Buggles Balham High Road

Amazonia and Galapagos

2011-04-15T10:32:00.000-07:00

This the Manatee Amazon Explorer on the Napo River in the Amazonian Rain Forest, Ecuador, where we spent five days and nights journeying down the river exploring the jungle. It is a flat bottomed boat that can accommodate thirty people but there were just seven of us from the UK sharing the experiences. It may be called a rain forest but it was jungle; steaming, humid and mysterious. Life on the Manatee was gorgeous, delightful crew and delicious home cooked food with a sun deck and a barman who knew how to make cocktails. The cabins were small but perfect with air conditioning and comfy beds.

This is the view from our cabin door. Told you it was jungle.

This is a Caiman at night. To me this is a huge Crocodile though technically it's an Alligator. We were in a small motorised canoe exploring the river banks. I should tell you now that I can't swim and deep water and small boats frighten me. Keep this information in your head as I tell you all I could imagine was this large animal with big teeth and huge eyes making one lurch towards our small canoe and tipping us over. At the same time Bats as big as seagulls were swooping past our heads scooping up the zillions of insects for their late night feast. Glow-worms lined the banks in their thousands twinkling like fairy lights.

The young man on the left was our canoe driver. I did wonder if our holiday insurance covered us for being driven in dangerous circumstances by a ten year old. Earlier in the day we went to The Piranha Lake and saw Pink River Dolphins but then invited to swim in the lake -the lake full of Piranhas. They eat you. But only if you have an open wound. So glad I had an excuse not to go in and even if I could swim I could never get into a lake full of fishes that eat you.

Ooh look. He's looking at me. Twice a day, early morning after breakfast and then after lunch we'd disembark and get in small canoes, travel to the river banks and explore with our guide, seeing monkeys, birds, tapirs, native villages. No place for glamour here as we wore heavy wellies, rubber capes and life jackets because it isn't called a rain forest for nothing and downpours and storms can roll in at any time. Hence the steaming humidity.

By contrast this is our luxury boat, the M/V Galapagos Explorer, where we stayed for five days and nights as it cruised The Galapagos Islands. This boat accommodates one hundred passengers in luxurious cabins as big as hotel rooms. Again, twice a day we disembarked after breakfast and after lunch with experienced naturalists for shore expeditions to seek out wildlife and understand the natural history of these volcanic islands. The biggest impact walking around the islands is how the wildlife take no notice of humans as they have no fear of them. So we were able to step over Iguanas as they lay basking, get close enough to seals to gaze into their liquid eyes, exotic birds stayed where they were so we could see their beauty.

A view of the islands and a pretty beach where others snorkelled and swam in 24 degree warm sea. For those who love the water there were opportunities to swim and to snorkel every day as motorised dingies took them out into deep water. One morning as we were disembarking for our morning trip on the dingy to the shore I was standing on the deck looking down and saw a family of six reef sharks circling the dingy. Circling the dingy that I was supposed to be boarding. I couldn't do it. I couldn't climb down the steps and into the dingy, the dingy that bobs up and down, with sharks within touching distance.

A Pelican Preening.

There Be Dragons. The Iguanas have evolved to take on the colours of their habitats as all the islands vary in foliage, lava rocks, sand so they are all different. The Iguanas on the islands that are mainly black lava rock are black and indistinguishable from their surroundings. This one lives on a sandy island and blended in with the sand and the sea.

This trip was nine air flights , international and internal, two cruises and three nights spent in two cities in Ecuador. Two nights were spent in Quito the capital of Ecuador over 9000 feet above sea level and very near an active volcano in the Andes. Such a pretty city and great to explore. One night was spent in the city of Guayaquil the main port and a delightful surprise as it has a beautiful river waterfront and many small parks with City Iguanas. They had adapted themselves to blend with the urban surroundings and had long tails of green and brown stripes and mottled bodies so as they ran up the trees in the parks they were invisible. They were more twitchy than their cousins in The Galapagos and shied away from humans - typical city life eh?

This was the most adventurous holiday I have ever experienced. I am proud that I'm not as scared as I was of small boats and deep water be it a river or the ocean. Just as well because I estimate I got on and off small canoes and dingies around thirty times.

It was good to meet lots of young people backpacking their way through South America taking Gap Years from education or in-between jobs, couples making that one last trip before they settled down to make a baby. It was good to travel with people of similar ages to us who never had the means to do such things when they were very young - like us. It was good to meet so many nationalities in the Galapagos, Finnish, Russians, Americans, Swiss; Everyone eager to seek and to see and discover the world.

A Year of Just Deserts

2010-09-15T10:16:00.000-07:00

In February we were in the Namib Desert in Namibia. In September we were in the Sahara Desert in Tunisia. Above is a picture of the prickly pears growing around the Roman City of Dougga.

Above is a picture of chillis drying out in a cave dwelling in the troglodyte village of Matmata. People have been living in thse caves for more than two thousand years. The lady of the cave gave us sweet mint tea and her own flat bread smothered with honey and olive oil. Below is a picture of her onions drying in the baking hot sun.

Date palms protected from any rain with yellow plastic as they ripen ready for cropping in October and our Christmas 'Eat Me' boxes of dates.

Only 25% of visitors to Tunisia visit the Roman cities, Carthage, museums, medinas, Mosques, monasteries, the salt lakes and the many ancient sites.

Jack's Dinner

2010-07-30T07:39:00.000-07:00

My youngest grandson loves food. Eating it and cooking it. He cooked these fresh mackerel, asparagus salad and crushed new potatoes for dinner this week. Jack has a natural flair for cooking and a good palate although he insists he doesn't want to be a Chef de Cuisine.

A Swan in Aswan

2010-07-24T04:54:00.000-07:00

Half an hour after disembarking from the MS Prince Abbas after our week long cruise on Lake Nasser we were waiting with our luggage on the East Bank of the River Nile in Aswan as we watched the Pharoanic Barge make its way across the river from Elephantine Island to transport us back to our home for a further week-The Hotel Oberoi situated on this palm covered island in the middle of the Nile. Nothing had prepared us for the beauty we were about to experience. This stretch of the Nile between the city of Aswan, the Old Dam and the High Dam and Lake Nasser is scattered with islands. Ancient Aswan was originally sited on Elephantine Island as it could be easily defended against invaders from any direction. That ancient city has long disappeared and Elephantine Island can only be reached by the boats and feluccas that freely taxi visitors to and fro, day and night.

The ancient city of Aswan was once the largest trading centre for Upper Egypt exchanging goods from equatorial Africa and the Mediterranean. Aswan lies on the first cataract of the Nile which acted as a natural insurmountable barrier for river traffic as the bubbling waterfalls, rocks and torrents were impossible for boats to navigate. South of Aswan goods had to be carried by caravan across the barren Nubian Desert. However, the building of the Aswan Dam in the 1960s changed everything. Damming the Nile and diverting the Nile flood waters into the artificial Lake Nasser has now established the pretty city of Aswan as the main river port for river cruises to Luxor and on the other side of the magnificent Aswan Dam, the dock for cruises over Lake Nasser.

The Hotel Oberoi is the only hotel on the island set in beautiful gardens with swimming pools, poolside bars and restaurant and all the bedrooms with balconies trailing with hibiscus and panoramic views over the River Nile and Aswan. The most striking feature of the Hotel Oberoi is the twelve story tower that has a 360 degree view through h
uge plate glass windows where visitors can sit and have a drink or a light meal. Our first view from the top of the tower of an Aswan sunset over the West Bank of the Nile was unforgettable as the sun sank, rapidly sliding behind the desert, while on the West Bank in the City of Aswan the lights twinkled on the Mosques.

We mused as to how the name Elephantine Island came about? Looking south down the Nile from the tower we could see we were surrounded by large grey rocks and they all looked like elephants rising out of the water. Or was this romantic thinking on our part and the name Elephantine Island was because of the ancient trade in ivory from Upper Nubia-now modern Sudan? Perhaps the name is a bit of both eh?

The intention was to purely relax, read and write and laze about by the pool in this very comfortable hotel and the gorgeous sunshine but there were far too many things to see in Aswan. However, the very nature of a cruise means the visitor is almost over protected from the cut and thrust of every day life in an Egyptian city as any excursions from the ship are done in a group and with the Egyptian Tour Manager. We were soon to discover how protected we had been. Woken by the call to the Mosque at dawn and then having strong coffee sitting on our balcony and watching the sun rise over Aswan, after a delicious breakfast we caught the Pharoanic Barge across the river to the Aswan Corniche along the banks of the Nile. We had only walked a few yards along the Corniche when the hassle began. It is intolerable. Caleche drivers, taxi drivers, self appointed unofficial tour guides, Felucca boatmen and children descended upon us as if from nowhere offering us rides, discounts and artefacts. I understand the poverty in Egypt and the need to take every opportunity to earn money from the tourist but this persistent pestering has the opposite effect on me. I just want them all to go away as I will spend my money as and when I want and certainly not a
s a result of this relentless hassling.

We decided to take a Caleche ride-horse and carriage- along the busy Corniche to the famous Old Cataract Hotel, where Agatha Christie stayed, to have coffee on their illustrious terraces overlooking the Nile. I insisted we chose a Caleche with the healthiest looking horse but after just a few yards I realised the horse was tired. My heart sank when the carriage driver cheerfully told us she had just had a baby. Fortunately, the Old Cataract Hotel was only a short distance away and after the usual haggling over what was originally an agreed fare, and then the driver asking for more money to feed the horse leaving me muttering that next time I'd buy my own oats, we were sitting on the terrace admiring the beauty of the Nile. Drawn to the water we chose to take a Felucca sail boat ride back to Elephantine Island and our hotel, stopping first at an archaeological area on the Island where excavation began in 1969 to uncover the ancient settlements.

The fare was agreed with the Felucca boatman by the hour to include one hour's waiting time as we explored the archaeological area and visited the small Aswan Museum. It was so very exhilarating sailing along as the gentle breeze caught the white sails of the Felucca and we leisurely basked in the hot sunshine. The Nile was a hive of activity with boats of all shapes and sizes going about their daily business. Our boatman expertly used the wind to tack to and fro around the massive grey 'elephant' rocks that loomed out of the river like giant statues. Once again we were caught off our guard as we bought our entrance tickets. From nowhere an unofficial guide attached himself to us and wouldn't go away. We wanted to quietly walk around the excavations referring to our guide book when necessary and enjoying the peace and tranquillity as we imagined the Romans who had once lived here, imagining the Cemetery for the Sacred Rams where the blood stains co
uld still be seen and gaze at the carvings in the Temple of Khnum.

We were patient with him until he got rather excited about a carving of a Pharaoh sporting an enormous black penis. He then suggested his penis was bigger than the Pharaoh's and how did Morty's compare. That was it for me! Off with him! Nevertheless, he insisted on payment not only for his services but for his seven children. From this moment on we decided to make use of organised trips to see the rest of the delights Aswan has to offer. So! They are more expensive than doing it yourself, but at least on an organised tour with an official English speaking Egyptian guide you get the freedom to concentrate on what you wanted to see and not forever doing deals.

We were a bit 'Templed-Out' by now, as anybody who has ever been to Egypt would understand, so we chose a visit by Felucca to Kitchener's Island, also known as the 'Island of Plants' to be guided by an expert of flora, fauna and wild-life and to follow this with a motor boat trip upstream to the now peaceful First Cataract and through a wild-life sanctuary. General Kitchener was the British Consul General in Egypt in 1910 and he created this luxuriously planted island. After seeing many dusty ancient ruins, the Nubian Desert and large expanses of lake this was a delightful contrast. Kitchener planted many varieties of plants here that grow in our own gardens in the UK so it was strange to see waist high Bizzy Lizzies and huge Lupins alongside lemon and date trees.

The motor boat ride up through the First Cataract is awesome. Huge granite boulders that once caused the waters to roar over them in plumes of spray now stand exposed in the reduced waters of the Nile. The boat wove its way through these immense boulders and we saw herons, kingfishers, terns, kites and other abundant birdlife plus water buffalo and mules. It was eerily silent and the birds seemed to be putting on a show for us as
they appeared to order as if by magic for our expert guide. The final part of this tour was to spend an hour in a genuine Nubian village on the West Bank. The people of the village opened their homes for us, showed us baby crocodiles in tanks, scorpions in jars and played with snakes. They also gave us mint tea and we bought two Egyptian cotton shirts for two pounds sterling each. The Nubians are a very elegant and good looking people with a quiet charm and I felt sad that many of the older Nubians in the village would have been forced to leave their homes in the 1960s when their villages were drowned by the forming of Lake Nasser.

A must to see if ever the reader is in Aswan are the temples of Philae. The island that the temples of Philae originally stood on for three thousand years were partially flooded by the construction of the first Aswan Dam in 1902 and completely submerged by the building of the new High Dam. Consequently, the ruins were dismantled and rebuilt by UNESCO on another island one mile south of the Aswan Dam on the stretch of the Nile between the two dams. A short coach ride and we stood in the afternoon heat watching a scene of utter madness as hundreds of dilapidated old motor boats with engines that had seen better days fought for space at the quayside so they could moor up and let the many tour groups board to be taken to the Island Of Philae. By now we expected our appetite for ancient temples to have been sated but as the boat approached the temples we were very impressed with the magnificence of the obelisks and enjoyed a couple of hours quietly wandering around. Ready for our hotel room by now and a drink before dinner we still had one more visit to the granite quarry to see the unfinished obelisk. Mmmm! That's what I thought too as quarries do nothing for me so that Egyptian beer back at the hotel was calling me.

A little more to tell here about Egyptian hospitality and the Hotel Oberoi in Aswan-throughout our stay both on the ship and in the hotel we were amused at the bed-towel art that greeted us every night when we retired to our room. The room service made exotic animals and birds from white towels using rose petals and hibiscus flowers as decoration and laid them on the bed. This was apart from the very grim crocodile on our cabin floor wearing dark glasses and a wide open mouth held in position by the television remote control. It is the custom on a cruise to put money in the envelopes provided for gratuities. The last night on the ship we were greeted by towel art of a man in the bed wearing Morty's jumper, dark glasses and holding the tipping envelopes in its hands. The hotel was a little more romantic as they created graceful swans and rose-strewn hearts to surprise us every night. We were also happy that there was no need to 'dress-up' on either the ship or the hotel for the evenings. We prefer the casual approach as we are on holiday and pressure of any kind is unwanted.

Egyptian wine leaves much to be desired. The choice of red, white or rose is limited and some likened it to a chemical cleaner, but being a brave little soldier I soon adjusted my palate to the white wine and got rather fond of it. I've had worse in English pubs! The only beer available was a tinned variety of Fosters which was refreshing enough when required. There was a fridge in our room both on the boat and in the hotel so there is a choice to drink any duty-free in the room. The meals in our hotel were excellent. Buffet style but a continual stream of freshly cooked food was brought from the kitchens to the endless buffet tables. It was possible to eat European as well as more Egyptian style food and vegetarians were very well provided for. The vegetables were grown in the hotel gardens and I wanted to hug the pastry chef as the deserts were wonderful. There was a wide variety of good breads and I had cinnamon pancakes with honey and thick yoghurt with plump raisins for breakfast every morning as I never have that at home.

Not to be deterred by the hassle from the Corniche we decided to take a Caleche ride through the Souk or market. Avoiding eye contact I chose a horse drawn Caleche and made sure the horse had some meat on it and didn't look old and worn out. Better luck this time, as we ripped along the promenade at a fair pace with a comparatively happy horse and the driver took us on a tour of Aswan. It is a small city and it was good to see schools, childrens' play parks, well maintained Mosques, Coptic Churches, local shops and the general hustle and bustle of every day life. The Souk in Aswan is recognised as being the best in Egypt with quite wide streets and a huge variety of goods on sale. Emboldened by the lack of hassling we paid our driver and walked the mile or so back through the Souk to get the full atmosphere of the shops and peddlers selling their goods. So many spices, materials, fruits, leather, meat, rugs and vegetables for sale and thankfully we were left alone and no more harangued than in a typical London street-market.

Aswan is very proud of their new Nubia Museum opened in 1997, and rightly so. It is situated opposite the Old Cataract hotel and stands in its own vast gardens with water features, statues, palm trees and walkways. It is spread over several floors and displays very important objects from throughout Nubian history. As with many museums there is too much to take in on one visit alone so rather than get culture weariness we made two trips and wandered around at our leisure. I understand that the Cairo Museum is relocating and building a new museum to house its treasures. If it is half as wonderful as the Nubian Museum in Aswan then we are all in for a treat as that makes returning to Cairo a must in the future.

There were so many other places to visit in Aswan and the surrounding areas but none of them are compulsory. You don't have to be active. There are some who would prefer to take advantage of the beautiful weather and stay by the pool to swim, drink, eat, sleep, visit the gym, have beauty treatments and massage and wallow in the luxury. During the week we did a bit of both and as we flew from Aswan International Airport on our return flight to Gatwick we both agreed that this, our second visit to Egypt, was probably our best holiday yet and certainly not our last to the Land of the Pharaohs.

Balkan Food Market

2010-06-25T09:18:00.000-07:00

We've just returned from our travels through The Baltic Countries beginning with Sweden, moving on to Finland, then Russia, Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, Poland, Germany and finishing in Denmark. All this achieved cruising on The Clipper Adventurer, a small cruise ship with just over one hundred passengers, a wonderful crew, delicious food and The Baltic Sea and The Gulf of Finland as calm as a duck pond all of the way. I ate fresh fish every day and above is a small example of the foods sold in a local food market - but I can't remember which country we were in when I took the photos!

Most of the time I was caught up emotionally with the people in Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia as the local guides proudly showed us their towns and cities and talked gently of The Troubled Times leading up to 1991 and their eventual freedom. Freedom from the Nazis to the left of them and the Russians to the right of them. Centuries of occupation, invasion and they are at last free. I kept imagining if this had been us here in the UK and simply how lucky we all are as no matter how we feel about our governments we have no idea how it was for the people of these countries. They are rebuilding their beautiful cities and they welcome visitors like us with great charm and speak our language perfectly.

We were in Finland and a pompous Git in our very privileged group asked the Finnish guide if they 'had a lot of trouble from the Eastern Europeans coming into their country and taking their jobs' I held my breath waiting for her reply and she answered

'We have many Estonians coming here to work and they are excellent carpenters so when they arrive they start up their own carpentry businesses and are a great asset to us and our economy'

That shut him up.

Summer Moules

2010-06-06T07:46:00.000-07:00

Lovely dish of mussels and the fattest chips and mayo eaten sitting in the afternoon sunshine in The Bull Hotel courtyard. Although next time I order them I'll ask for them cooked with no cream. I prefer them Mariniere -simply white wine, garlic and parsley so I can drink the liquer like a soup and dunk my bread. I was left with a bowl of cream - undrinkable.

A Few Days of Summer

2010-05-25T11:14:00.000-07:00

Mission Olive Tree Live Plant Cold Hardy 2-3 Feet Tall

Three days of summer put me in the mood to do a tiny bit of gardening. So I repotted the Olive Tree given to me by my daughter for Mother's Day. It needed it because it was still in the original tiny pot. It's also called the Peace Tree and when I look at it now I feel peaceful.

This is where we sit every day and eat our sandwich lunch. Perhaps later in the day we may have a glass of wine as the sun sets. A simple garden. I prefer this as before I had it landscaped into four levels it was on a hill and lawned. I could never sit in it then without getting fidgety seeing all there was to do. Now I am able to sit and chill. Now and again I rake the gravel.

High Peak Food

2010-04-28T09:41:00.000-07:00

I had these scallops in a local Dorset eating place. They were horrid. Smelt fishy, not in a good way, and had been microwaved to the point where the edges had gone hard and crusty.

The scallops below were eaten in another local hostelry, very small and shrivelled, and I had no leaves or bread to mop up the garlic butter so I had to ask for some.

We were in The High Peak this weekend. So of course we ate a lot. The above is yet another variation on the ubiquitous scallop. These were some of the best I've eaten lately, resting on some very lush, moist black pudding. I'm giving up on scallops until an imaginitive chef comes up with something new. How about deep fried in a tempura batter? Why not?

These two photos are of our Roast Sunday Lunch in The Fallow Deer in Chapel en-le-Frith, Derbyshire. Yes-two massive Yorkshire Puddings. That's gravy in the brown jug. The vegetables were fresh and lightly steamed, the roast beef was good. This plate of food is far more hearty than most Sunday lunches where I live and only cost £7.95. Locally some places charge almost twice that. Of course we couldn't eat both Yorkies but most plates were going back to the kitchen empty so plenty of diners managed to eat them. Or maybe they gave them to a friend.

On cooking. With all these baby leaves being presented as a garnish on many dishes and they are so very small why not go back to mustard and cress?

I Say Yeah Yeah

2010-04-16T10:07:00.000-07:00

I had a girlfriend when I was a teenager who loved modern jazz. I loved it as well but her idea of a good Saturday night out was to go to Ronnie Scott's in Gerrard Street in Soho, sit in rows on hard chairs and Be Cool just watching and listening to modern jazz. This was in the 1960s and all I wanted to do was go Boy Shopping. I did appreciate the music. I even saw Tubby Hayes play there, but I would dream of all the pulling I wasn't doing in more lively places where you could dance and just meet blokes. Eventually we came to an agreement. Every other Saturday night we'd go to dance clubs and pull and in-between we'd go to Ronnie Scott's and appreciate.

I didn't go to Ronnie Scott's again until the mid 1990s when musicians from my town were playing there alongside Jacqui Dankworth and we went to support them and we had a memorable night. More than a decade later and I was back again this week. This time to see Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames. Not the Blue Flames of then but the saxophonist Alan Skidmore, trumpet player Guy Barker and wonderful to see Alan Dankworth, son of Johnnie and brother of Jacqui on bass. What a line-up of world class musicians playing jazz, rhythm and blues. Georgie Fame's vocals are as rich as ever, as are his good looks.

Doesn't Alan Dankworth look like his Dad? Jacqui more like her Mum Cleo?

Ronnie Scott's, now in Frith Street in Soho, has had a revamp and is now smart and lush. Morty booked us a table right in the front so we had a first class view of the band. Georgie went from his battered Hammond organ to the piano doing his own arrangements of Van Morrison, Hoagy Carmichael, African based music and just one tribute to The Olden Days with a blasting rendition of Yeah Yeah. It sounded even better with the heavy jazz emphasis from such wonderful accompaniments. He sang a beautiful song that I've only heard sung by Frank Sinatra called 'No Not Much' as he told the audience that the late Robert Palmer had recorded it as well. That's what I call good taste.

The first time I saw Georgie Fame perform live was in a South London Town Hall in the 60s. That night everyone stopped dancing to crowd around the stage as his magic pulled them in. Rather watch and listen than dance. In the Flamingo Club in Wardour Street in the same era when it was a smoky jazz club with a terrific atmosphere. The next time was here in Dorset in the 70s doing a live gig with Charlie Watts and Ian Stewart (Stu) the original co-founder of the Stones. More recently in our local Arts Centre on tour with his two sons, one on drums and the other on guitar. It moved me seeing him with his talented boys backing him as I thought of those days when he was a young stud and I was a young bit of skirt.

Funny How Time Slips Away.

Trains and Boats and Planes

2010-02-21T23:51:00.000-08:00

We've just returned from our wonderful journey travelling through Namibia. Three thousand miles, not including the Virgin Flight from Heathrow and back, on planes and boats and trains and of course a coach. Namibia is a huge country, the size of Germany and France joined together and a population of around two million people. So I thought I'd begin with the obvious. Me in the Namib desert watching several very fit Safari Guides getting all the doings out of their 4x4 to set up a table on top of a sand dune ready to serve us very large Gin and Tonics in icy cold pewter goblets and a buffet as we watched the magnificent sunset over the beautiful desert.

It has to be food first. Mostly we ate animals we'd seen in the bush but this meal was all fish. We stayed overnight in Luderitz at the Nest Hotel on Namibia's Atlantic coast, named The Skeleton Coast because as the storms blew ships onto the rocks and the sailors thought they'd reached safety on land, they soon discovered there was nothing but desert ahead of them and they died in the intense heat and starved of water. Their skeletons are still being found.

The above is a mixed seafood main course for one person. If we'd known how huge it was going to be we'd have ordered two between the four of us and not one each.

We stayed in five star hotels, desert lodges, bush rest camps and I sat on a scorpion. We journeyed for four days through the desert on The Namibian Desert Express Train. It never went faster than forty miles an hour. The bathrooms were very tiny. I was horrified when I sat on the lavvy and discovered a full length mirror facing me on the closed door. It was almost touching my nose so I multi-tasked and plucked my eyebrows at the same time.

Namibia is a brilliant destination. More to come.

Fish in a Bag at Jamie's Italian

2010-01-19T01:28:00.000-08:00

Jamie's Fish in a Bag served to us in Jamie's Italian in Bath. I took loads more photos of our delicious meal but the battery was flattening so this is the only image that showed up properly.

His food just gets better and betterer. I ate a perfect Frito Misto with good bread but unless you were there and ate it or I could show you how good it looked as well as tasted there's no words.

But if you get the chance to eat at one of his Italian restaurants then take it. The prices won't hurt your pocket either. Great value, such a relaxing atmosphere and always very charming servers, well trained, polite and seemingley very happy as if they are enjoying their work.

Hats

2010-01-09T09:40:00.000-08:00

When I lived in bed-sit land in Balham in the late 1960s my treat of the week was gathering my laundry together on my Monday day off from hairdressing, as I didn't have a washing machine, getting the train to Croydon and meeting my Mum at West Croydon station at eleven, leaving my laundry in her original Mini ready to be laundered and dried at her home and we'd go to the Lyons Cafe, eat an iced bun with a milky coffee and then we'd Go Shopping. But this was no ordinary shopping. It was Trying On Hats in C & A Shopping. We did this every single Monday for years. We did this when I got married and then pregnant with my daughter. We did it when my daughter was in a pushchair (not called Buggies then) We did it together when my daughter was pregnant with her first child but in Tunbridge Wells, not Croydon. We did it because it was the funniest shared time we had together as Mother and Daughter and then as Grandmother, Mother and Daughter and the Great-Grandson safe in my daughter's womb.

We tried on every hat in the store. I loved wearing hats then and I still do but Mum never though they suited her. I have a large head, my Mum had a tiny head and my daughter is somewhere inbetween. So a hat that fitted me would slip down over my Mum's eyes, hit her nose and drown her so we would cry with laughter at her image in the mirror. My daughter pulled funny faces and made sure her ears stuck out when she tried a hat on so by this stage we were rolling on the floor knicker wetting with laughter.

After an hour of this we sensed the sales assistants were watching us. Quite rightly because we had made a mess of their orderly hat display. We were obvious time-wasters. My concience would kick-in and I knew I had to buy a hat whether I wanted to or not. No chance of Mum or Daughter buying one. I've kept all of these hats. They are stored in chests, black sacks, ottomans. I have panamas, berets. cloches, fedoras, straw hats, sequined, trilbys, waterproof, fur, animal print, fascinators but I've never bought a Funeral Hat.

My dear Mum passed at four o'clock 8th January 2010 aged eight-nine.

I spent this morning searching on eBay and found and then bought my first Funeral Hat, pictured above, as a tribute to wonderful shared memories of Hat Shopping with my dear Mum. We shared many other things together. Our relationship with Hats represents our relationship as Mother and Daughter and then Grandaughter.

Mum loved to laugh and I imagine if she could see me in this Hat at her own funeral her eyes would crease then twinkle, tears of laughter would form, she'd ask me if she could try it on and - the result would be historic.

How To Cook The Perfect Christmas Dinner!

2009-12-29T09:25:00.000-08:00

How To Cook The Perfect Christmas Dinner!

1. Don’t.
2. If you have to, remain sober.
3. Not sober? Don’t be over ambitious.
4. Check size of turkey in relation to size of your oven.
5. Only invite guests that drink too, then they won’t notice the state you’re in.
6. Lower the lights so they can’t see the cat’s hairs in the first course.
7. Pour plenty of wine in the gravy to camouflage alien flavours.
8. Try to eat something yourself to soak up the alcohol intake in your blood.
9. Wear waterproof mascara for the inevitable moment when you cry/sweat.
10. Don’t ever get talked into doing it again.

My then still comparatively new man is assuming that because I ran a restaurant I could cook, and on the strength of this invited six good friends to Christmas day lunch. My cottage is small, and my kitchen is a galley.

They, including man looking smug and proud, are sitting round the dining table in the glow of myrrh-scented candles (No: 6). Their glasses are permanently being topped up, and they are feeding from a large oval dish of crudités and dips while I cook the first course. I have a very large copper pan full of mixed seafood being sautéed in butter, olive oil, garlic and herbs for the Italian style ‘Frito Misto’ I am ambitiously preparing. (No: 3) I give the heavy pan a chef like swirl over the heat, and amazingly, the entire contents of prawns, scallops, mussels and squid, take on a life of their own, and spiral into the air, hang suspended and dump themselves over the kitchen floor and into the cat’s dish!

I look furtively at my guests from the open plan galley. They’re laughing, drinking (No: 5) and talking merrily! Haven’t apparently seen a thing! I scoop everything up, from under the edge of fridges, washing machine and yes, the cat’s dish and throw it back into the pan, add fresh lemon juice, more black pepper, pray and serve it up in a large dish
for them to shell and pick at and dunk their crusty bread into the hot, garlic butter. I am saved. I sit and join in, but I can’t bring myself to eat (No: 8), so partake of a little more wine. (No: 2)

My oven is too small to take a turkey adequate enough for eight diners (No: 4). I am cooking three plump whole boned turkey breasts. They have been roasted, basted in butter and ready to ‘rest’ out of the oven to continue cooking in their own heat, while I make my gravy. I like gravy. I like rich, slightly thickened gravy, not much of a ‘jus’ person.

The saucepan has all the delicious roasting juices from the turkey breasts and I’m whisking in my flour, making a roux. I gently add my homemade chicken stock, stirring continually, watching it satisfyingly thicken. I reach over for my old fashioned Gravy Browning, pour, and stare in disbelief at the Fairy Liquid bottle in my left hand and the green globule slowly dissolving into my pan full of rich gravy! I panic! I slurp! I honestly think for one moment I am able to scoop the offending green Fairy Liquid out of the pan with a slotted spoon, add lashings of wine and get away with it! (No: 7)

I tip the gravy down the sink. I look at the residue in the roasting pan where the breasts are resting, but I’ve used it all. I have to resort to a chicken stock cube, cornflour and this time, the Gravy Browning, and not the Fairy. I am dripping, with perspiration and with tears. (No: 9)

My guests are having a deliriously happy time. I’m glad somebody is. I’m the hostess and I’m not! I serve up. Roast potatoes the Delia way; Crispy chipolatas and bacon; Baby Carrots caramelised with fresh grated ginger; Sprouts and roast chestnuts; Roast parsnips with Cinnamon; Moist Fruit stuffing; Carved Turkey breast and disgusting wishy washy gravy….

The compliments flow, the wine flows, the conversation gets more outrageous, my galley
kitchen is a tip, but I know the cheese course will be trouble free, and we have home-made Christmas Pudding Ice-Cream, Syllabub and fresh fruits and nuts to follow.

I manage the coffee and fudge without serious accidents, and feel my job is done, so sit back with an impressive looking Brandy Bottle in front of me, my special glass, my roll up tin and eventually join in the fun.

My company were blissfully unaware of all the ghastly happenings in my galley, of which I’m glad. I made man promise NEVER to invite friends for Christmas again, bearing in mind, the only time he goes into the galley is to visit the fridge for a beer……………

To summarise: This leaves points one and ten! I mean it, it’s just another roast dinner, well, that’s what we’re told. They’re lying! It’s a monumental task, hard, stressful, fraught, expensive, over lavish, unnecessary, somebody’s always drunk, either the guests, the host, or in my case, both.

This year, twenty of us are all contributing in our local by preparing and bringing all the vegetables, deserts, first courses, nibbles and a French Run for the booze, and our landlady is cooking the geese, ducks, turkey and beef and leaving us to run riot in the comfort of her lovely Inn.

My Favourites

2009-12-29T02:46:00.000-08:00

My favourite things this Christmas are the drawing above given to me by my thirteen year old Grandson. I love this because it shows that he knows me so well, demonstrates his sense of humour and he took the time out to draw me such a personal gift. I shall always treasure it.

The above Pavlova was also made by the same Grandson following Nigella's recipe. It looked wonderful with a crispy outside and the soft marshmallowy centre and tasted delicious. We ate this on Christmas Day instead of Christmas Pudding. He also took control of the Carving of The Turkey by following Jamie's advice to rest the turkey for an hour after cooking and then the magic bit - removing both breasts and carving them longways and serving rather than slicing. It worked a treat.

A talented young man. Me - biased? Of course I am.

Trapped

2009-12-16T22:28:00.000-08:00

I really enjoyed watching The Curious Case of Benjamin Button on a wet November afternoon curled up on the settee with my legs intricately crossed. I didn't move for over two hours. I sensed these pins and needles in my right leg but felt so cosy I stayed put. I do wish I hadn't. By dinner time I was in searing pain from my right buttock to my ankle. Pain so bad I screamed out loud. I couldn't sit, stand, lie down. Never mind - I have paracetamol and I have the worst ever pain I have experienced but paracetamol will sort it. No they won't.

Day two and Morty more or less carries me to the GP. Yes, you've trapped a nerve, the sciatic nerve, so take these pain killers and anti-inflammatory drugs and rest. A tub of sixteen paracetamol last a year in this house. My past history of prescriptive drugs have been my HRT patches and the very occasional anti-biotic for a gum infection. But the searing, chronic pain is barely touched by these drugs so I am carried back to the GP and he prescribes stronger pain killers. He tells me they are opiates and I can take the full 400gm dosage alongside eight paracetamol a day. This is nineteen pills a day. Nineteen pills a day including Class B opiates for a person who looks at half a paracetamol and thinks that'll do.

I feel very ill. Still have severe leg pain and any sleep I get is lying on the floor on my stomach for the odd hour or so as the drugs kick in. I research the side effects of my pain killers. The list is endless and I seem to have every single one of them. Body rash, profuse sweating, itching, acute nausea, diarrhoea, out of body, dizzy, so very tired, can't eat, can't get in the bath, can't even sit on the lavvy, can't string a sentence together.

Day six and I stay in bed as I am so doped up I really don't care anymore. The pain is still extreme and I sleep in snatches. I need all these pills every four hours for some sort of pain relief. I phone the doctor and tell him how ill I am but only sleeping in brief interludes. He gives me slow release pain killers to add to the list and take at night. Lovely. At the end of week two I am existing on tea, water and dry biscuits and still have this excruciating pain. My leg is numb from the knee to the ankle. Heaving every half hour or so. Carried to the surgery again. Surely by now the doctor can see I am not quite the woman I was nearly three weeks ago. He prescribes a different Class B Opiate pain killer plus anti-sickness tablets. That night I lay in bed dry retching for seven hours. That ill that if I had been sick I wouldn't have moved anyway - I'd have lain there in it. My limbs are leaden, my heart is racing out of my body as if it is bursting to get out. I am scared.

I am now on twenty two tablets a day. I decide to ditch all his prescriptive pain killers and go back to paracetamol alone. I begin to feel human again. I can get out of bed. My leg hurts but by comparison it's a dull nagging pain. I have hope. All the good advice I get to see a Chiropractor, Osteopath, Reiki are well meant but I couldn't allow anyone within a foot of my burning, throbbing, pulsating with pain leg.

I research forums on the InterWeb and to my alarm there are hundreds of them with people offering to buy my Class B Opiates for pleasure. Describing the fun they get from any one of my three prescriptive drugs combined with alcohol and a smoke making for a good night out. I could sell them all and make enough money for a good Christmas. I also find genuine pain management forums with people who are addicted to these pain killers and have resorted to ordering them online as their doctors won't continue prescribing them as their original pain has gone but they need them just to function. Just to get through their day.

It's a month since I watched Benjamin Button. A month of misery. The after effects of these drugs are still with me but hopefully fading away. I think I'm back in control of my body and seeing an Osteopath but ready to try any alternative treatment as long as it doesn't involve drugs.

I don't like my doctor.

Last Waltz in Warsaw

2009-10-26T13:16:00.000-07:00

Bright flame against dark bleak boots

Rests a high-heeled red wedge shoe

Dense crowd files past in silence as red shoe comes into view

Blood red shoe belonged to

a young girl; who was she?

Scarlet shoe, evocative of youth, vitality

Was the wearer dancing

on the eve before the train?

Realise as she saw steel gates she'd never dance again?

Did she think it was a shower to cleanse

For personal ablution

Know Hitler's evil Nazis sought the - 'Final Solution?'

Red wedge shoe amongst dull black ones

Grabs fraught crowd's imagination

Staring through plate glass at lost, murdered generation

Survivors helped by loved ones

Survey grim gruesome scene

Memories, never gone, sweet lives that might have been

Sad, silent crowds, eyes brimming

Leave wood huts that house decay

The sun is out, but it feels cold, no words for them to say

They gassed them over there, guide tells

Fire burned all evidence

Arriving every day by train, imprisoned by wired fence

Couldn't burn them fast enough

Cruel SS dug deep pits

Mass inhumane cremation - no choices - just submit

I own some high heeled red wedge shoes

I wear them when I dance

Young owner of these red wedge shoes never had the chance

To grow old; be free; born just like me

In a democratic nation

Imprisoned, murdered, victims of vile mass extermination

Day trippers board their tour bus

Goodbye Camp Birkenau

Silent, stunned, shocked - as one ask, 'Could this happen now?'

Tsars In Their Eyes

2009-10-23T03:53:00.000-07:00

I’m writing this with a large shot of Russian Lemon Vodka and a dish of salted pretzels by my side as I relive my experience of our ten day trip to discover Russia by river. After two days spent on board in St Petersburg our river cruise was to take to Moscow for two days. The distance between the two cities by water is 1400 kilometre (840 mile) made up of rivers, lakes, reservoirs and canals. We were to travel on a German boat carrying 260 passengers, hence the 231 fellow Germans on board and 29 passengers from the UK, including myself and Morty. The summers in Russia are hot and sometimes humid, the winters are famously cold, but we were travelling in the first week of September, the Russian autumn, before the snow falls begin, usually in October.

How would we view the Russia we were to see after the collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s? How have the Russian people dealt with this freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom of trade? How has a country ruled by the Tsars until the 1917 Revolution and then ruled by strong Communist regimes led by such as Lenin and Stalin managed these extreme changes? We were about to gain a little more knowledge and understanding about the Russia of the past and the present on our brief but illuminating journey through a relatively small area of this vast country.

I need a sip of vodka here when I recall the very old Aeroflot aircraft that was to fly us from Gatwick to St Petersburg. I promise you the tyres were bald! However the scheduled economy flight was comfortable arriving after less than four hours at St Petersburg, and once through immigration then transported by coach to St Petersburg’s River Port on the river Neva, where we were soon happily unpacking our gear and ready to explore. Now then, we’re not Group Tour kinda people but, mainly because of my cowardice going to seemingly dangerous destinations, we opted for the organised City tour of St Petersburg, once Petrograd, then Leningrad and now St Petersburg once more.

Peter the Great built the city of St Petersburg 300 years ago as a port for his navy and as a major trade route to Russia’s inland waterways. As with many of the beautiful buildings and colossal engineering achievements we were to see in Russia they were built using forced labour with a huge cost to human lives. This beautiful city was built on marshland so amazingly it consists of 42 separate islands connected by 70 canals and rivers all to be crossed by around 300 bridges. Does an image of Amsterdam and Venice enter your imaginations? We had just two days before we sailed so do I need to tell you how little we were able to see of the 200 palaces, the 50 museums, the 20 theatres, 60 stadiums and 4500 libraries. We benefited from the fact that the city smartened itself up for it’s 300th anniversary in May of this year as royalty and world leaders flocked here to pay homage so all the buildings in the city centre and along the Neva were freshly painted and all the onion domes were freshly gold leafed.

The Hermitage museum was top of our list for our second day but having read that to spend a few moments looking at each item would take nine years we felt slightly fazed. We managed a few hours and with spinning heads saw more art by Picasso, Matisse, Renoir, Gauguin and Monet than I have seen in my life as well as the bejewelled state rooms that were once the Home of Tsar Peter and Catherine the Great.

Later, we broke away from our group to wander about on our own. We strolled down Nevsky Prospekt, the main street where the rich Russians rub shoulders with the poor Russians as this wide street is full of fashionable shops, souvenir pedlars, artists and smart restaurants and the homeless. We sat in a pavement Bistro (Russian for fast-service) by an ornate canal with a view of a church called Church of the Spilled Blood where Alexander 11 was assassinated in 1881, and ate a late lunch of Chic ken Kiev and drank Russian beer.

Tired on this our first day, we took a half hour taxi ride back to the River Port and our boat. The St Petersburg river port is in a very down at heel area, in stark contrast to the dripping wealth in the city centre. Grim high rise blocks of neglected flats, pot holes in the roads and pavements, broken windows, unkempt small parks, beggars, drunks, lots of broken down cars and yet there were lively street kiosks with entrepreneurs selling everything from root vegetables to tobacco and CDs. We know we have to return to St Petersburg for a city break as our appetite is whetted, staying in one of the many luxurious hotels being built and armed with a city dedicated guide book, to do this fairy tale city justice.

The young women of St Petersburg are extraordinarily beautiful, slender and dress in the height of fashion. It was no surprise when reading the English printed edition of the St Petersburg Times to see four full pages of personal adverts from Russian women looking for Western husbands, an equal amount of adverts from Russian Marriage Agencies plus personal adverts from Western men searching for Russian brides. Considering the average wage for a surgeon, a university lecturer or a cleaner is $30 a week then it begins to make economic sense for the Russian women and a different kind of sense for the Western male. Need I say more?

Another surprise was the currency issue. Aware that roubles are unobtainable in the

the bank advised us to take currency in the form of US Dollars- not traveller’s cheques or sterling. Imagine our surprise when we saw everything from the most expensive boutiques to remote villages on the inland river banks pricing their goods equally in US dollars and Euros with Roubles a very poor third. On the boat itself when we paid a bar bill with US Dollars we were given any change in Euros. Consequently, the $150 we innocently changed to Roubles at an expensive percentage on our arrival became even more expensive when we couldn’t spend them and had to change them back to US Dollars on our departure from Moscow airport at an even more exorbitant percentage. If we’d just taken Euros at least we could have returned to the UK with some convenient money to spend on our next European holiday!

The overland distance to Moscow from St Petersburg is 650 Kilometres. The river route is 1400 kilometres, so were to sail on ten separate waterways to include Europe’s largest lake, its longest river and the world’s longest man-made canal. This waterway journey was to take us five days and we had schedules stops along the way. What did we see of another kind of Russia?

It was a new experience for us as we left St Petersburg and sailed along the river Neva in the early evening only to wake in the early morning to discover were on Lake Lagoda, Europe’s largest lake. We knew it was large because we couldn’t see land to the front, to the rear or either side of us so it seemed like we were on an ocean! This confirmed for me that I never want to do an ocean cruise as I so missed the interest of the river banks, the woodlands, villages, forests and the comfort that land wasn’t very far away. Historically Lake Lagoda is known for its vital role during the 900 day Siege of Leningrad from the German blockade of 1941-1944 when vital supplies were carried across it, even when frozen solid, to the starving population as they held out against invasion. Sadly, we were warned not to drink any tap water in St Petersburg as Lake Lagoda is close to death with pollution from phosphate pollution due to lake side industry and this is where St Petersburg gets it main water supply.

Therefore it was enchanting to eat breakfast on the boat as we sailed into the beautiful River Svir the river that links Lake Lagoda to Lake Onega over a distance of 137 miles. The Svir is landscaped on both bank s by beautiful pine and fir forests with plenty of activity as we saw lumbering, log piles and men working on timber rafts. We were beginning to take to this cruising lark, sitting on the sun deck, sipping Lemon Vodka and espresso coffees. In no time at all we were sailing into Lake Onega, a lake complete with 1300 islands, surrounded by forests and we were to stop and visit one of these islands in the north of the lake (linked to the Arctic by the White Sea canal built by Stalin using forced labour) to Kizhi Island renowned for its miraculous wooden churches and a reconstructed 18th Century village. Our local guide was a little too beatific as she fervently described the meanings of the many religious icons in the churches and her halo was hurting my eyes!

Yet more icons when we stopped south of the White Lake at Goritsy for a tour of a 15th Century monastery. Goritsy is isolated yet, in readiness for future tourism, building luxury hotels and a tourism centre. Perhaps if we returned there in ten years time we may well find it completely unrecognisable as the West catches on to what could be a major resort with fishing, water sports, wildlife and a monastic retreat?

Since the fall of Communism, Russians are now free to worship again. Apparently the number of Russians returning to the Orthodox Church is extremely large. However, there is also a movement to bring back the Tsars and others who are discontented with the progress being made under the move to democracy who wants to see the return to Communism. Isn’t the Church a hard disciplined ruler? Weren’t the Tsars hard selfish rulers with no thought for their subjects? And as for Communism?

Our next waterway was the Volga Baltic canal which begins by linking Lake Onega and the River Kovya and runs for 229 miles. This was so exciting as we were lifted by remarkable locks by as much as 370 feet and dropped again sailing through yet more splendid scenery then entered the
legendary White lake, known as the Tsars Fishing Ground as government boats sailed around taxing the fisherman but not those from the monasteries as Tsars knew better than to tax God!

This gets personal now so another sip of Lemon Vodka. My grandfather was born in Russia and I have the name of his village but no amount of web research could locate it. Rybinsk Reservoir was formed by Stalin damming the Volga in 1941. In order to do this Stalin failed to inform the 700 villages and their occupants of his plans and they were given days to collect their belongings and find alternative accommodation. Wouldn’t you possibly have wondered if this was where your Granddads village may have been? Drowned in true Stalinist style? Even worse for me was that Stalin used educated political Gulag prisoners as construction workers who died at the average of one hundred a day. Suddenly I felt like a spoilt Westerner and could feel the sadness and death all around me as I viewed this feat of engineering.

The complicated network of man-made canals and rivers link the River Volga to all five of Russia’s major seas and flows about eighty miles from Moscow itself so its linked by the Moscow Canal. Again, beautiful to sail along and experiencing another series of lifting by several locks but once more built during the 1930s by Stalinist methods using Gulag prisoners who dug the canal out shovel by shovel. But I mustn’t dwell on this. We had one more stop, until we arrived at Moscow’s Northern River Passenger dock, at the town of Uglich. This industrial town has a small Kremlin, or fortress, preparing us for Moscow, and another church complete with icons where we heard the ethereal singing of a Russian choir. Morty succumbed to a famous Chaika watch made in the factory in Uglich. These are mechanical watches and our guide book advised us to buy one from a market stall as this was more likely to have been made from stolen parts and more reliable than those mad
e in the factory itself. For six pounds it’s still ticking! Animal lovers don’t read this as I bought a divine sable hat and I can’t wait for our winter ice and snow and for people to sing Lara’s Theme to me. My sable hat, when worn with my Russian Baltic amber pendant, makes me feel like A Russian Princess.

The Moscow River Port is about a half an hours drive into the city centre and smarter than St Petersburg dock, so once we’d moored up and knowing we only had two days to see the city we chose the group City Tour. At least this tour took us around the main attractions and trust me, you wouldn’t want to drive yourself. There are six lanes in and out of the city and it is chaos. The other benefit of group tours is avoiding the queues as group tickets makes admission to museums and major sites hassle free. A serious warning about pick pockets as this applies in any major city. Once again, how could this visit give us a chance to contemplate the 2500 historical and architectural monuments, 70 museums, 125 cinemas, 50 theatres, 4500 libraries, universities as well as the obvious such as the Kremlin and Red Square? The Kremlin was a stunning array of palaces, minarets, domes, battlements and towers in every shape and colour. I preferred standing outside the Kremlin rather than enter the Cathedrals and churches as by this time we were both Iconned-out but were more than happy to visit the State Armoury Chamber which was full of the wealth of the Tsars in the form of chalices, Faberge eggs, jewellery and thrones dripping with diamonds-no wonder there was a revolution!

The cobbled Red Square was as impressive as we expected, so impressive that we paid a second visit by night to see it illuminated, though Morty wanted to visit Lenin’s Tomb but sadly it was closed, and we saw the multi-coloured onion domed St Basil’s Cathedral which symbolises Russia -better than the postcards! We did stroll round GUM, Russia’s largest shopping centre. GUM is
like a palace in itself with fountains, waterways, and glass roof, selling the most expensive International designer labels I’ve ever seen under one roof, in contrast to the empty shelves in Soviet times.

I wonder who are buying the luxurious million dollar apartments springing up throughout the city considering the average wage. I have never seen so many casinos in one street as I did driving through Moscow. Who are the people driving the Ferraris and the Lamborghinis? Are they UK football club owners?

Limited time meant we had to make a choice between using the famous Metro at night or the Bolshoi ballet. In fact, we have vowed to return to Moscow as well for a City Break, stay in the centre and take in more. After all, we didn’t even manage a visit to Gorky Park! The Metro, by night to avoid the commuters, was an eye opener. One token buys unlimited distance within the network. The trains travel at over 80mph and there is one arriving every 55 seconds. The doors remain open for exactly one minute for boarding and getting off with an automatic announcement saying they are closing-and then they do. I was scared stiff in case I didn’t get off in time! Of course it is the beauty of the stations that enthral. They are like palaces and museums with chandeliers, mosaics, original art, stained glass, statues and sculptures and they are all different as we discovered as we got on and off at different stations.

Our ten day visit was over and in contrast to the rickety old Aeroflot plane we arrived in our return flight to Heathrow was in a very modern Aeroflot airbus with halfway decent in-flight food and not a bald tyre in sight.

Did we enjoy Russia? Do we recommend you to visit? Yes, whatever way you choose, be it a City Break to St Petersburg or Moscow or a leisurely cruise with a city break at each end you won’t be disappointed -I promise.

All Fur Coat and No Knickers

2009-10-18T06:09:00.000-07:00

I'm in a quandry when it comes to judging restaurant food these days. There was nothing wrong with the above first course of pigeon breast on a cauliflower puree. But it had no substance - All Fur Coat and No Knickers. As if some cooks these days think a big plate, a miniscule portion and an arty farty bit of garnish pass for great cooking.

There was nothing wrong with the above deep fried prawns, a fig chutney and dressed leaves. It tasted good but somehow uninspiring. Somehow not honest.

The above side order of Triple Cooked Chips were fantastic. I would have liked three times as many chips and a bowl of mayo as a main course and nothing else.

I know what it is. On almost every plate of food this cook places in front of the diner the various components of the dish Do Not Touch Each Other. Like they've had a row or have a contagious illness. They never meet, never blend, touch either on the plate or in the mouth. This is perfect food cooked without love.

And I would like to meet the chef who introduced the paintbrush to the kitchen. You know - when the chef puts a puree on a big plate and drags the paintbrush through it. I would like to meet the chef who ever first did this and then I would like to smack him.

The Riverside

2009-10-01T10:47:00.000-07:00

We've been eating at The Riverside At West Bay since the 1970s when it looked like this.

It looks like this now. The food has changed, under the same ownership, as much as the building has. The first picture is my starter of fresh king scallops. Perfectly cooked and presented.

My main course was Catch of the Day served with a lovely soupy, garlicky sauce. I ate it all and then used my spoon and good bread to wipe my plate clean.

I couldn't decide on the desert so I had a medley as in the above photograph. Service was friendly and relaxed and the view overlooking Lyme Bay added to the eating experience.

At the end of the evening Arthur Watson, the owner, asked if we had enjoyed our evening. I was emboldened with good food and good wine and suggested to him that he would have been far better as a presenter of seafood on the television than Rick Stein and Arthur replied 'Maybe, but I am ten years older than he is'.

But you are better looking, have a far more interesting voice and wittier than he is. Shame the TV Celebrity Chef thing just missed you Arthur. I loved what Floyd said about Chefs. That we all misunderstand the language. If we cook in a kitchen we are a cook. If we run a Restaurant kitchen, then we are a Chef de Cuisine. Although I believe the popular phrase now is Executive Chef.

I was married to a Chef and we once holidayed in Brittany and ate every evening for a week in a small family restaurant with three generations running the kitchen and front of house. The food was historic and on our last evening I approached the Grandmother who kept a watchful eye on everything, and told her in my basic French that my husband was a Chef.

'Chef de que?' she asked.

'Chef de Cuisine' I replied.

Floyd was right wasn't he?

Sailing Across The Desert

2009-09-28T11:39:00.000-07:00

The Nubians call it 'The Nubian Sea' while the rest of Egypt named it Lake Nasser. Not surprising the Nubians call it that as in order to create the Lake in the 1960s the Nasser government penned up the Nile behind the High Dam and the dammed waters flooded the Nubian Desert area in Upper Egypt to create a 300 mile long inland sea. This meant that forty Nubian villages and towns and forty thousand Nubians had to be re-housed as their homes vanished beneath the rising waters. But it wasn't just the Nubian people who were in danger of being submerged -but many of the ancient Nubian monuments south of Aswan including the most famous and imposing 3000 year old temples and statues of Ramesees 11 at Abu Simbel.

Once the High Dam was built, an amazing feat by Soviet engineers, the Nubian Desert began to slowly fill with Nile waters, an estimated time of six years, when the Egyptian government sent out a worldwide plea for help as the lake was forming faster than at first thought and it was evident that the Temple at Abu Simbel would be swallowed up by the rising waters. An international team of around three thousand construction engineers from all over the world under the backing from UNESCO laboured for almost five years to salvage these massive ancient temples and move them just sixty five metres up a cliff block by block and rebuild them aiming to make them appear as if they had never been disturbed.

Fortunately this grand scheme raised the issue of other Nubian monuments in the desert that would clearly have been hidden by the ever rising waters of the artificial lake and so many more temples were moved to higher ground including New Kalabshka, The Kiosk of Qertassi, The Temple of Amada and many others. This was a great sacrifice made by The Nubians, as by allowing Lake Nasser to drown there homes they were also in danger of losing their identity and their culture. They were all re-housed, mainly around the Aswan area, and the hydro-electric power provided by the High Dam has given all Egyptian citizens electricity and the future promise of irrigation in previously barren desert areas. So was this impressive feat of engineering, at an immense cost of US$40 million, really all worth it?

We arrived at Aswan International airport in the late afternoon after a five and a half hour flight from London Gatwick and blinking in the heat and the sunshine boarded a coach for the half hour journey to embark on the 5***** MS Prince Abbas for our seven night trip 'Sailing Through The Desert' This title of this Jules Verne holiday captured our imagination as we marvelled at the thought that we would be sailing on Lake Nasser yet deep down under the calm waters were the remains of a Nubian culture even more ancient than that of the Egyptians. Deserts vary in formation and it was apparent almost at once that the Nubian Desert once consisted of high mountains because even before we set sail from Aswan there were many small islands in the area of water surrounding the moored Prince Abbas. We were to take three days cruising further South over the Lake, stopping at several ancient temples, before reaching Abu Simbel where we were to stay for two nights then on our return to Aswan we would visit more ancient monuments on the other side of the Lake.

The gradual build up to the main event, our arrival at Abu Simbel, was in itself exciting. The scenery once we set sail was beautiful. The blue waters of Lake Nasser were set in sharp contrast to the surrounding mountainous desert on either shoreline. All the large and luxurious cabins had picture windows straight out to sea and we automatically woke early on the first morning to watch the breathtakingly exotic Egyptian sunrise over the mountains, the desert and the sea. The sun sets early and rapidly in Egypt, as we were sailing nearer and nearer to the Equator and the Sudanese border, so every evening at 5.30 pm we watched the sun luxuriously sink behind the distant horizon before a shower, fresh clothes and early drink in the bar and then dinner in the restaurant on the lower deck with the lake lapping against the windows.

There are only six boats cruising on Lake Nasser at any one time so we experienced a wonderful feeling of peace and tranquillity. The Prince Abbas is an extremely comfortable boat with an upper deck and plunge pool, charming Nubian and Egyptian staff, first-class food and cabins larger than many hotel rooms with excellent facilities. Most importantly, there is only one sitting for all mealtimes-this point matters enormously. There are no docks along the edges of Lake Nasser so The Prince Abbas would moor up to the nearest rock and we had to walk narrow gangplanks onto rather old motorboats that took us to the shoreline and a tour round a rescued Nubian monument, all steeped in legend and history and individually beautiful.

I could feel a cowardice moment coming on as I walked the gangplank because I am scared of the sea but I was shamed into silence when I discovered that one of my fellow travelers had two hip and two knee operations and was leaping the plank with fearless abandon, although I did wonder if this is how she had broken all these bones in the first place. Security in Egypt is very evident in the machine gunned police that accompany all tourist groups, but most of the policeman looked about fourteen and I did wonder what impact they would have in any form of terrorist attack.

Emotions were high on our third day of sailing as we expectantly waited for our dramatic arrival at Abu Simbel at around midday. We knew the ship would draw in at the front of the Temples and as we gathered on the upper decks of the ship the loudspeakers sprang into life playing Vangelis and Abu Simbel came into view. The four colossal statues of Ramesees 11 guard the entrance to the temple and can be seen some distance from the shore as they appear to rise from the sand, each set on a pedestal and each sixty five feet high. As the ship neared these magnificent buildings it was impossible not to be moved by their sheer size, the fact they had originally been cut into the rock three thousand years ago and had been built in the middle of nowhere. It was also intriguing to recall that Abu Simbel had nearly become a legend as it had been almost entirely buried by sand for many centuries and was rediscovered by a Swiss historian in 1813. As we drew closer a second smaller temple came into view dedicated by the Pharaoh Ramesees to his beloved wife Nefertari.

Our ship moored to the side of Abu Simbel and after an Egyptian barbeque lunch on deck with tahini, olives, good bread, kebabs, salads, fruit and exquisite pastries and desserts followed by Turkish coffee we were eager to disembark and explore the magic and the history of this imposing and remarkable ancient Nubian ruin. At this point I have to mention tourism, after all I am one but I never expected this. There is an airport at Abu Simbel and planes were arriving very frequently, full of visitors to Abu Simbel from various parts of Egypt including Aswan, Luxor and Cairo who would be staying overnight at one of Abu Simbel's two hotels. Even more frequently were coaches full of tourists from all over Egypt making a day trip. There were just two ships moored and we were fortunate enough to have a ticket that covered us for two days enabling us to disembark and visit the temples as many times as we wanted to. Consequently, our afternoon trip making the short walk over the desert to the ancient ruins was very crowded indeed.

We were a group of twenty three and our Egyptian guide Wallid was exceptional at keeping us all together and explaining the history of the statues, the battles, the warring and the stories relayed in the carved scenes, some of them like giant comic strips, in the many chambers, but concentration could be difficult as there were many other groups of so many nationalities being guided round and a confusion of languages that we were already looking forward to returning alone at a quieter time.

That same evening the group returned to the temple for a Sound and Light Show. We'd been to the Sound and Light Show at Luxor and were dreading more of the same, you know the sort of thing, a Richard Burton type of commentary and corny strains of Aida, but this show was magnificent. It was computer generated using the front of the temple and the four huge statues of Ramesees as the screen with moving actions and some classy music all the while telling the battle stories and achievements of this great Pharaoh and of his love for his beloved Queen Nefertari. We sat on padded stone seats with the sound of Lake Nasser behind us and I had to pinch myself to make sure this was really happening to me.

At dawn the next morning Morty was up in a flash and off the boat racing his way to the temple to catch the sunrise taking some great photos. Even at that time of day he had to rush to beat the coach loads and avoid queuing at the admission and the inevitable security scan and search. Here's the romantic bit. Twice a year, on February 21st and October 21st the rays of the rising sun shine directly through the entrance doorway of the temple and illuminate the statues. Was the temple deliberately positioned for this to happen on these dates? Are these dates significant to Ramesees and maybe his birthday or the date of his accession? Or is this purely fanciful wishing?

After two nights moored at Abu Simbel we set sail with the Captain giving us one more backwards look at the temples as he cruised round the small inlet. We stopped a couple of times more to see some ancient sites on our return journey to Aswan and settled into life aboard The Prince Abbas. Once back at Aswan we were to have our second adventure staying for one week on Elephantine Island situated in the middle of the River Nile in the Hotel Oberoi to enjoy more Egyptian culture.

A Few Egyptian Facts
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is suggested that the name Nubia is derived from an Egyptian word meaning Gold. Whatever the truth then if you go to Egypt look out for Nubian gold as it is 18/22crt. Also be careful where you buy it. None of the gold jewellery is priced as it is government controlled and is sold by weight. Only buy from authorised dealers as there are unscrupulous traders who sell gold plated as Nubian gold and you will be caught out.

There is a baby born every thirty seconds in Egypt. The ratio of babies born is eight girls to every three boys! In tourist areas poorer families keep their children away from school and encourage them to ask tourists for pens so that they can go to school. In fact we were told not to give them pens as their families take them from them and sell them for money.

Egypt is 80% Muslim and 20% Christian.

It is reassuring to see the security effort being made in Egypt to ensure the safety of tourists. Egypt needs tourists and they treat them very well indeed. It is a beautiful country full of magical sights, warm and friendly people, excellent hospitality and value for money. Pay the most you can afford for your accommodation and live like a Pharaoh. Egypt isn't only for culture vultures as many people aren't interested in seeing history in the form of Abu Simbel and ancient ruins but think of their Red Sea resorts for diving, snorkelling and coral reefs. If you are searching for Winter Sun then just a five and a half hour flight can transport you from a cold and miserable UK January and February to weather better than the best of our own summer days in July and August.

On my first trip to Egypt in 1993 I was at Cairo airport and I had to buy two sheets of toilet paper from an Egyptian lady in the cloakrooms as there was no paper in the cubicles and at a cost of one English pound per sheet.

On our arrival at Aswan International airport on this holiday I needed the toilet and many years later nothing had changed-only this time it was a young man standing outside the Ladies cloakroom selling a wad of Bronco type paper for a pound. It was grand to be back and we will return yet again.

And we have just returned from another Egyptian trip. This time sailing from Luxor to Aswan and back again on The Nile on a paddle steamer once owned by King Farouk. It was equally magical. I bought more Egyptian/Nubian gold. I didn't pay for toilet paper.

Life on The Nile

2009-09-27T02:58:00.000-07:00

An Egret swooping for dinner on The Nile

Fellucas relying on the gentle breeze on The Nile in Aswan.

Can You Tell What It Is Yet?

2009-09-24T10:21:00.000-07:00

We sailed to Aswan from Luxor and moored at Elephantine Island then got on a smaller boat to see wildlife in the creeks off The Nile and these wondrous rock formations. Do you think this is why the island in The Nile at Aswan is named Elephantine?

Terrifying Towel Art

2009-09-16T10:49:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time Egyptian Towel Art was rather romantic and dreamy. Telling stories in towels like hieroglyphics tell stories in carvings. But now they are scary. We've just had towel art twice a day in our cabin on the SS MISR sailing for one week from Luxor to Aswan and back again on the River Nile. Here are three of them. The first looks quite amusing - like Morty sunbathing perhaps? The second one seems to be a pair of swans which is pleasant. But I screamed when I met the third one on our way into our cabin. A dead hanging baby surely? No. It is a monkey.

Would you have screamed?

Opposite Sides of the Street

2009-09-05T08:59:00.000-07:00

Above is a starter course of King Scallops on a bed of puree of minted peas topped with crisped streaky bacon. Served in an East Street hotel restaurant. It was fine to eat.

Above is a starter course of Queen Scallops on a bed of puree of minted peas. Served in an East Street Restaurant directly opposite. It was fine to eat.

Although I am a fishmonger's daughter and in the 1960s my Mum would cook us King Scallops and crispy bacon topped with a fried egg for Sunday breakfast.

King Scallops are better than Queen as I love to eat the orange coral. Crispy bacon is a far better accompianment than Black Pudding or Chirizo Sausage. And please don't offer me a combination of fish and chilli.

Food does go in trends but I wonder who copied who in my High Street eating places?

Up a Smoggy River

2009-08-29T04:49:00.000-07:00

Fourteen weary Jules Verne tourists climbed off the coach that had taken them from the city of Shanghai to the River Port of Zhenjang on the Yangtze to board their cruise ship the MV Victoria Rose and their eight night journey upstream along the Yangtze River in China ending at the river city of Chongqing. We shouldn’t have been that weary. Six intriguing days and nights spent in Beijing and finally Shanghai had been fascinating. Our minds were full of the exciting images we'd seen. Our bodies were weary with the walking and climbing wed done, but our weariness was more to do with a coach journey that should have taken three hours from Shanghai to the River Port. The fact that China is under construction meant that the motorway from Shanghai to the River Port was still being built as we drove on it, resulting in the journey taking nine hours. The road was so rough that we spent the entire time either hitting the roof of the coach with our heads or jarring our spines on the seats. All of us were dreaming of a relaxing cruise with the highlights being our visit to the new Three Gorges Dam site and to see the magnificence of The Three Gorges before the completion of the Dam in 2009 submerges The Three Gorges leaving just the peaks as islets above water. But how relaxing was this cruise going to be?

The Yangtze River in China is the third longest river in the world after the Amazon and the Nile. The River Yangtze is over three and a half thousand miles long with more than seven hundred tributaries. We were to sail one thousand, three hundred and twenty miles of the Yangtze River over eight nights with frequent shore excursions. Ten percent of Chinas population live and work along its banks. Almost half the crops eaten by the Chinese are grown along the fertile banks of the River Yangtze including rice, wheat, cotton and maize. But the first impression of the River Yangtze at Zhenjang as we boarded the MV Victoria Rose at 10.30pm is industry, factories, rusting freight and cargo ships, ferries, cruise ships and the lasting memory of smog.

The MV Victoria Rose was comfortable and spotlessly clean and a very welcoming sight after our long coach journey. The cabins were a reasonable size with very sleep inducing beds and adequate bathrooms, complete with a wet-room which I loathe, television, telephone and efficient air conditioning. I stress the importance of air conditioning in China in general and on the River Yangtze in particular. The temperature during these eight days at the end of September remained in the 80 degrees Fahrenheit range but the humidity soared from 50% to a suffocating 90%. Bottled water was supplied daily free of charge in our cabins and is essential to prevent dehydration. The MV Victoria Rose had a relaxing one-sitting only restaurant, another important factor for happy cruising, and a good bar that hosted gentle entertainment, lectures and demonstrations of kite flying, calligraphy, language lessons, Mah Jongg instruction, traditional painting and early morning Tai Chi shadow boxing with Dr Wu, all fronted by an onboard Cruise Director and his staff. It became apparent after only one day that the fourteen passengers from the UK, ranging in age from thirty two to seventy eight years old, were the only ones from the seventy others, exclusively Americans, which actually drank at the bar. After our time together in Beijing and Shanghai we became even more bonded as we met every evening in the bar for a pre dinner drink and most certainly after dinner for our nightcaps. Travelling in an organised tour group is bit pot luck as there is no escape from the others, but we all got along very well for the entire sixteen days.

So much for the anticipated rest though. The MV Victoria Rose set sail from Zhenjang some time during the night and docked at Nanjing, o few miles upstream. But we didn't sleep for long as the buffet breakfast was being served at 6.45 am and we were to disembark on a shore excursion to visit a Mausoleum in Nanjing. The German Cruise Director was already getting on our nerves as he gleefully told us there were over four hundred steps up to the Mausoleum of Dr Sun Yat Sen, the Father of Modern China who led the 1911 revolution and founded the Republic of China. After lunch we were to make a further visit to a Bazaar and then a Confucian Temple. The Cruise Director had a rather unfortunate manner. He didn't seem entirely suitable in his role as what was in essence in charge of Entertainments. On our arrival the night before after the fraught coach journey we had all wanted a drink at the bar and he'd refused to serve us after 11.00.pm because we had a busy day ahead. We were on holiday, not an army assault training course! After out post lunchtime visit to the Bazaar and the Confucian temple we set sail at 3.00pm to travel one hundred and thirty miles to the port of Gui Chi. Now and again the smog cleared on the River Yangtze- a few gaps appeared on the river banks, lessening the effect of industrial smoke belching out of the factories and coal mines that line so much of the sometimes obliterated river banks.

The next day was even more threatening. By this time we were calling our Cruise Director Herr Flick! With great joy he told us that breakfast was at 5.15am as we had a full day shore excursion to the Yellow Mountain from Gui Chi and were scheduled to leave the boat at 6.00am. With even greater joy he told us there are many stairs and steep pathways to climb at the Yellow Mountain but walking sticks were available to buy at the bottom of the mountain. However, even Herr Flick couldn't spoil what was to be a wondrous day out. Yellow Mountain, or Mt. Huangshan, has been named by UNESCO as a world historical and cultural protection area. The day was clear and sunny with no fog. This made us especially fortunate as the seventy two peaks of the Yellow Mountain are enveloped by fog and clouds for three quarters of the year. The majestic peaks, crags and granite rock formations with pine tress growing from every crevice are the inspiration for much of the traditional Chinese landscape paintings with just wisps of mist feathering the summits and the Yellow Mountain is a place of pilgrimage for poets, writers and philosophers.

To reach the top of the Yellow Mountain we boarded a cable car that held one hundred people and took almost fifteen minutes to ascend on what looked to me like a bit of string. We were all more confident when told it was Austrian technology and engineering that had designed and built the whole system. Looking down as the cable car smoothly soared upwards we passed over peaks and gorges and deep ravines, which was a breathtaking and scary experience but stunningly beautiful. We then followed a pathway downwards past the Cloud Gathering Pavilion and then to a mountain restaurant for lunch. This pathway was narrow and steep with nothing but an iron railing on the edge to prevent anybody falling through and into the terrifyingly sheer drop to the valleys and ravines below. At stages along these pathways there were thousands of padlocks on chains on the iron railings. Lovers declare their undying love for each other by locking the padlock onto the rail and throwing the key into the gorge, so expressively romantic? After a delicious Lazy Susan lunch in a restaurant perched high on the mountain we had to climb back up the very steep paths and steps to the cable car station for our descent. The afternoon sun was very hot and immediately after a large lunch we were uncomfortably out of breath but all considered ourselves very lucky to have seen the Yellow Mountain in these weather conditions, as visiting groups only a few days previously experienced high winds and rain and could see nothing of the intoxicating scenery.

It was some relief to discover we had two days sailing upstream with no shore excursions but for one brief evening tour of the city and river port of Wuhan, and thankfully no early morning starts. This gave us the opportunity to discover more about our ship the MV Victoria Rose, perhaps read a book and learn a little more about Chinese culture and traditions from the Cruise Team. The ship had a large lobby and reception area complete with a shop selling jewellery such as Chinese jade and Chinese fresh water pearls, kites, silk clothes and accessories. Reception was manned twenty four hours a day and each of the three passenger decks had an attendant house keeping member of staff ready to meet any requirements. The ratios of staff to passenger appeared to be two to one and they were all attentive, charming and eager to improve their English at every opportunity by engaging in conversation with the guests.

The Dynasty Restaurant served excellent hot and cold buffet style breakfasts at the respectable time of 8.00am with selections of food from traditional Western taste to Chinese style. Lunch was a hot buffet, again with choices to suit everyone. Dinner was waiter service as dish after dish of Chinese style foods arrived and was placed on the Lazy Susan so let the spinning begin! Early bird tea and coffee was served from 6.00am in the Yangtze Club and tea and cookies at 3.30pm every afternoon. I never made the early bird coffee and somehow I never made, or needed, the afternoon tea. Fortunately there is no dressing up on board. People were wearing the same casual clothes to dinner as they had worn to breakfast. The onboard laundry service was so reasonably priced that if I did this trip again I would only pack one set of clothes, wear the other set, and have each laundered on alternate days.

I was disappointed that we couldnt walk right round the MV Victoria Rose outside decks as they were both too narrow and sealed off for access. Although all the cabins had large picture windows overlooking the outside of the ship the cabin doors opened into internal corridors. This made any length of time spent on board feel restrictive. There were two sundecks fore and aft and an observatory top deck. Two online computers, a hairdresser and beautician, a masseur, a library and a doctor were on board. The MV Victoria was non smoking apart from the bar, in the lobby and the outside areas.

The weather was warm enough to sit on the decks in spite of the persistent mist and fog. The Yangtze River was a deep yellowy, muddy colour, probably because of the tons of sewage and industrial waste that is dumped in it all the time as well as the enormous amounts of silt that are deposited in the flood season. Only three weeks prior to our visit unseasonably heavy torrential rainfalls had caused extensive flooding with the loss of many lives from people who lived in the villages along the banks of the river. As we sailed along some pleasure was gained from the intermittent breaks from riverside industrial plants and their smoking chimneys allowing us to see more clearly and enjoy the landscapes. Rice fields worked by manual labour with the help of water buffalo were scenes that I'd expected along this part of the Yangtze.

The upstream current was very strong so it took us twenty seven hours to travel just 295 miles up the river to Wuhan for a brief two hour visit where we saw yet another Buddhist Temple and led into yet another shop selling yet more Chinese arts, silks, jade, pearls, kites, Mah Jongg sets and calligraphy tools. Although this was just day four on the River Yangtze it was day nine of our visit to China and we were simply jaded out by then and I didn't care if I never saw another artefact or indeed another Mausoleum or Buddha statue. I desperately needed to see nature and not manmade things. But this wasn't yet to be!

The distance from Wuhan to our next stop, Yichang, was 440 miles. Yichang is most famous for the Gezhouba Dam. A massive civil engineering feat completed in 1988 which at the moment is Chinas largest hydroelectric power generator, until the gargantuan Three Gorges Dam, 25 miles further upstream is completed in 2009. Now, most all of the Yangtze cruises begin at Yichang to sail upstream and visit the Three Gorges and the construction site of the new Dam ending at Chongqing or, vice versa, begin at Chongqing and sail downstream via the Three Gorges and finish at Yichang. These trips last three or four days, half the length of our cruise. Considering we had been on board since Shanghai for five days and apart from the magic of the Yellow Mountain I did wonder about the value of these extra days on the MV Victoria Rose. We'd seen no birds, no fish, and no wild life at all, unlike all the other rivers we've sailed on, including the Volga and the Nile, and my lasting impression is of a polluted river, industrial waste, rusty boats and junks and everlasting smog. The MV Victoria Rose crew tried to excite us by telling us to keep a keen eye out for Finless Porpoises and Yangtze Dolphins but once we were told that our Captain had been sailing the River Yangtze for over thirty years and never seen any himself we gave up the search and put our binoculars away!

When you're on a river boat it is very exciting going through the ship-locks on a river and the Gezhouba Dam was no exception. From the moment the back gates closed behind us it took about twenty minutes for the water to pump into the lock to reach the same level as the outside and for the front gates to open, but this was small fry compared to the Three Gorges Dam. The Three Gorges Dam has five ship locks. Each lock can hold from five to nine ships. Our passage through each of these locks took a total of four hours. As well as flood prevention the new Dam will create a reservoir over 350 miles long. At the same time displacing almost two million people from their homes and their land but also providing electricity for 80% of the country! Many people are leaving the rural farming areas altogether and taking jobs in the fast expanding industrial areas in the cities.

So how much of the Gorges would we see now that the drowning has begun? The Three Gorges Dam is built in the forty seven mile long Xiling Gorge which was once a dangerous part of the river to navigate because of the currents and the rapids, but not any longer because the water levels have risen as the Three Gorges Dam nears completion. We entered the twenty five mile long Wu Gorge, often described as the most sombre of the gorges because of the steep cliff walls bordering the winding river and the sunlight sometimes breaking in shafts through the splits in the rocks. Then onwards to Wushan where we were to board a small ferry and sail along the Daning River, a tributary of the Yangtze, and see the lesser gorges. I liked these lesser gorges best of all. The River Daning was clear and blue. We saw monkeys climbing trees, goats clambering up the rocks, plenty of green foliage and wildlife but were sad to realise that these lesser gorges will be submerged once the Three Gorges Dam creates the huge reservoir.

Finally, the five mile long Qutang Gorge where the river narrowed to a matter of a few hundred feet with sheer precipices either side and then onwards to Fengdu The City of Ghosts. It looked like it too as it was shrouded in mist but we had a pleasant on shore visit to the Snowy Jade Caves which were in fact an alternative Wookey Hole. Then our final day on the MV Victoria Rose; we were sailing the last one hundred and fifty miles to Chongqing and our ultimate destination on the Yangtze. As we approached the sub-tropical city of Chongqing I read that it is nicknamed the Furnace or Fog City and I could see why! We couldnt actually see it! Chongqing is one of the few Chinese cities that dont have millions of bicycle riders as it is so hilly, and humid and hot and industrial with towering skyscrapers and flyovers.

Along the cliffs and the precipices that bank the Yangtze through all the Gorges as well as on large stretches of the Yangtze are huge signs in metres showing where the water will stand in 2009. This had a huge impact as we saw the houses, villages and even cities which will be underwater or demolished when the dam is finished. They say that the deep waters will allow ocean liners to sail all the way to the huge city of Chongqing from Shanghai making vital trade links to the western regions of China. They say that instead of reducing the beauty of the Gorges, tourists will be offered submarine trips down into their underwater depths thus increasing the revenue from visitors. They say that thousands of archeologically important sites will be drowned when the Dam is finished. Others argue that many cultural and historical relics are being moved to higher ground.

Our two part visit to China has given us more insight into modern China and where it's going in the world. It is undergoing an industrial revolution. Be prepared to feel tired as there is so much to see and it is a vast country. It will be foggy on the Yangtze. September and October appear to be the driest seasons. During our holiday in China we saw no rain or winds at all. Thank goodness, imagine that combined with the fog? Drink plenty of the freely provided bottled water because the humidity is generally high. Consider the four day Yangtze cruise from Yichang to Chongqing as an alternative to the full Yangtze cruise of eight nights. But try to get to the Yellow Mountain for spiritual refreshment. And although the river boats are luxurious and very comfortable with excellent service and delicious food with plenty of on board culture to stimulate the mind, the continual fog can get to you.

But this wasnt the end of our China adventure with Voyagers Jules Verne and our intrepid little band of travellers. We were to see the threatened species, the Giant Pandas, eating four tons of bamboo a day in Chongqing Zoo but even better than that. We were to take an internal air plane flight on Air China to the beautiful city of Xian to visit the Terracotta Warriors. But that's another story.

The Temple of Extreme Moisture

2009-08-25T04:58:00.000-07:00

In China the people say they will eat anything with four legs – except a chair and anything with two wings – except an airplane. Thus we were well prepared for our first evening in the capital of China, Beijing, as our local Chinese guide Jackie took fourteen exhausted UK Voyagers Jules Verne travellers through the open air street market in this remarkable city. Three hundred and sixty five days a year from 6.00 am until midnight and in all the extreme weathers these fast-food stalls line the street by the hundred preparing and cooking food for the hungry passers-by.

But what food; Skewers crammed with plucked sparrows; skinned frogs; wriggling scorpions; silk worm cocoons and water rat; all ready to be stir fried and grilled, served and eaten on the go. Snake-burger anyone? Delicious steamed dumplings seemed to be normal fare on this bustling food street and we weren't really shocked at the skewers of scorpions – after all we eat prawns don't we?

So what was our itinery for the sixteen night visit to China? Our holiday was booked with Voyagers Jules Verne and charmingly named 'The Original Yangtze Cruise' as eight nights of our sixteen were to be spent sailing up the vast Yangtze River to include the new Three Gorges Dam and the Three Gorges as they are now before the dam is completed in 2009 and drowns another eighty metres of the mountains that make this part of the Yangtze River so recognisable. The remaining eight nights were to be spent in five star hotels in the cities of Beijing, Shanghai, and Xian with internal flights between Beijing and Shanghai and after our river cruise a flight from the river port of Chongqing in the Western provinces to Xian to visit the Terracotta Army and then flying back to Beijing for an overnight stay and then the ten hour return flight on China Airways to Heathrow.

Five airplane journeys in sixteen days; A warning disclaimer at the end of our booking confirmation from our travel company Voyagers Jules Verne told us that this trip was strenuous and should not be undertaken by anybody with walking difficulties or health problems. Tired yet?

First impressions of China were vivid and will remain with me always. Beijing has a population of over thirteen million people and covers a land area larger than Belgium. It certainly is a city of the old and the new with cyclists braving the heavy traffic that clogs up the roads for most of the day, plus risking the fumes. China is under construction – bring a hard hat with you as essential travel wear. The people of Beijing are beautiful, both male and female. They are small boned, slim, high-cheek bones, clear complexions and sculptured features, beautifully dressed and always on the move. Our local guide told us that although China has a communist government everyone is a mini-capitalist holding down three jobs at a time.

We visited a local park that was like an outside gymnasium. The majority of the people using the basic equipment were well past retirement age and were supple and able to manoeuvre their bodies into positions that a thirty year old would envy. Music played under the trees as elderly couples danced together. Groups of people practiced Tai Chi together, played ball-games, gambled, sang, played musical instruments and made the most of this free amenity provided by the government to keep a fit body and mind. I somehow couldn't imagine our retired population in the UK making use of walking machines, benches and even a cobbled path that people were walking around and around barefooted.

Another significant impact was how polite and non-aggressive the huge city of Beijing felt. Usually in any big city there can be a feeling of threat and menace but we didn't experience this sensation at all in China. We felt completely safe.

Another huge impact was that after the scruffy, dirty and worn out atmosphere of London Heathrow and the obvious discontentment of the people who have to work there, and then Beijing International Airport was indeed a sharp contrast. Spotlessly clean with polite smiling staff and a very modern, streamlined appearance putting Heathrow to shame at the first impression that it must surely give to our visiting tourists.

Another lingering thought was the absence of wild birds and dogs and cats in Beijing as the only birds we saw were in cages and I pushed the thought of sparrows on a skewer being stir fried right out of my mind. I didn't want to know!

Our group of seven couples with ages ranging from thirty two up to seventy eight got to know each other during dinner on our first night in the revolving restaurant at the top of the extremely comfortable five stars Xixuan Hotel in Beijing. Eating a delicious Chinese buffet meal and gazing over the dramatic skyline of tower scrapers and congested newly built road system choc-a-bloc with gleaming new cars we noticed the descending smog that began to obliterate the tops of the high rise hotels, apartments and office blocks. We wondered – was the smog a warning of things to come?

Being part of a group has its pros and cons. The independent traveller would choose to stop mid-morning while sight-seeing for a coffee or glass of green tea but we knew from prior travel experiences that the host country and their tourist board wants the visitor to see as much of their country as possible. On the other hand, the independent traveller would need more than sixteen days to see everything that we saw – probably more of a gap-year? In one day alone in Beijing we visited the Forbidden City, Tiananmen Square with lunch in a local restaurant en route; dinner at a local restaurant followed by an evening at a Beijing Opera performance; all this without returning to our hotel.

Tiananmen Square is vaster than any news footage can reveal as it covers 98 acres and of course images of the student demonstration in 1989 flash before your eyes. I considered our group of fourteen were pretty intelligent people but we still found ourselves lined up and saying 'Cheese' for a group photo taken with an immense portrait of Chairman Mao as a backdrop. I blame jet-lag!

The Forbidden City will be familiar to many as the setting for the excellent film 'The Last Emperor' The Forbidden City was out of bounds to ordinary people for over five hundred years as it was the home of the Ming Emperors. The last Emperor only left the city after the 1911 revolution but not till 1924 when this, the 24^th emperor was expelled by military troops. Considering there are allegedly 9999 rooms all contained in 800 stunning buildings with yellow tiled roofs and surrounded by a moat and high walls it isn't surprising there was a revolution. Translation from Chinese to English was aptly named as 'Chinglish' by our guide as exotically named temples were translated as 'The Temple of Excessive Moisture' and 'The Hall of Preserved Elegance'

The Summer Palace covers twelve square miles – three quarters of which is a man-made lake – but this was built by an Empress using money that was intended for a naval fleet –again – bring on the revolution? However, the landscaping was tranquil consisting of classic Chinese gardens featuring water, rocks, bridges, willows, bamboo, jasmine and traditional buildings showing the balanced Yin and Yang of nature.

At this stage of our trip we had realised that whichever tourist wonder we visited there would be a souvenir shop at the end of it - or a silk factory, or a jade factory, or a pearl factory, or a Chinese traditional landscape painting shop, or a porcelain shop, or an enamel shop, or a silk carpet shop, or a Buddha factory, or a calligraphy shop, or a name-seal shop, or a Chinese tea shop, or a hand-painted snuff bottle shop, or a kite shop; it was endless. On the other hand bargaining with the Chinese was a fun business all undertaken with good nature and a result that pleased both the vendor and the buyer. We had been warned about the 'Hello People' that congregates around any recognised tourist site. 'Hello People' because they called out 'Hello', banged drums, whistled, clapped and shouted to attract attention to their merchandise. But, they were nowhere near as invasive as their equivalents in the Middle East, taking 'No' for an answer with fine humour, even after punching in an inflated price into their large hand-held calculators – let the haggling begin!

A bit about eating out in Beijing and indeed all of China; we were already 'Lazy-Susanned' out! The dishes at both lunch and dinner kept coming one after another on to the spinning wheel, albeit totally delicious but impossible for our group to eat everything. We all felt guilty as we left the table with enough food remaining to feed another group – perhaps it did? A tureen of clear soup, a bowl of rice and a pot of green tea would arrive first, rapidly followed dishes of pork, ribs, chicken, prawns, beef, vegetables and sometimes a whole steamed fish on the bone (picked from a tank of live fish) Then watermelon and pomegranates; Spinning the Lazy Susan was an art form and for kack-handed people like me chopsticks made for awkward and sloppy eating. Although I did like only having small bowl rather than a large dinner plate as this prevented that mass pile up of food on a plate that is the inevitable end-result of a Chinese Take-Away at home.

Morty had to be my food taster in the more Western provinces to protect my mouth from being fire-bombed as they cook with red-hot chilli peppers or lip-numbing wild peppers as in a hot and sour soup. Sadly, whilst in Beijing I mistook a dish of fresh green vegetables as green beans instead of wild green peppers with attention grabbing consequences and an inability to speak for twenty minutes.

Part of our evening city tour in Beijing was a visit to the Opera, a condensed version especially for tourists. Before we entered the Opera theatre we were able to watch the performers applying their make-up and costumes as they got into character. Chinese opera is unique. The facial make-up and costumes identify the characters as good or bad, evil, brave or honest. Everything is very vivid and colourful and the singers 'sing' in a shrieking falsetto and the music sounds like a band tuning up. But the dance and the acrobatics and sense of drama were enthralling made all the more amusing for the Chinglish sub-titles displayed on a screen either side of the stage. The opera visit lasted around one hour and we were all relieved to get back to our comfortable hotel lobby and listen to the excellent female pianist and base player playing tuneful Western classical music as we sipped a few glasses of cold Chinese white wine before bed.

I gather there is some debate as to whether The Great Wall is the only man-made structure that can be seen from space. It stretches for over three and a half thousand miles from the Yellow Sea to the Gobi Desert. It was begun in the 5^th Century BC built in small stretches then linked together at the end of the 3^rd Century BC unifying the whole of China. As I climbed the steep worn steps on this hot day determined to reach the fourth tower on this minute restored section at Badaling Pass forty-four miles north of Beijing I thought about the forced labour of millions of people who were conscripted to build this wall as a defensive protection against the people of the North.

This section of the Great Wall is the most crowded and surrounded by souvenir stalls run by the 'Hello People' and there are many restaurants. There are quieter places to visit the Wall where the traveller is able to climb in comparative solitude away from the tour groups. The views as I climbed higher up this restored section became more dramatic scanning a wild and rugged landscape with just the sight of the unrestored Wall disappearing into the distance.

Our afternoon was a welcome contrast to The Great Wall and the throngs of people. The Ming Tombs were a relaxing experience. The third Ming Emperor Yongle chose the Shisanling Valley, twenty five miles north-west of Beijing, as the burial place for himself and eventually eleven of his successors. We strolled in the afternoon sunshine through huge marble gates that marked the beginning of The Sacred Way leading to the tombs. As we approached a triple arched gate we were all superstitious enough not to walk through the central arch as this was only used when an Emperor's body was brought through for internment. Rather than face more crowds our guide recommended we enjoyed the peace and tranquillity by following the half mile long Sacred Way route past the eleven unrestored and unopened tombs. Ah! Bliss! The beautiful formal Chinese gardens and huge statues of men and animals carved out of granite gave us a feeling of calm. The fully excavated tomb of Emperor Yongle took thirty thousand people six years to build. It is difficult not to appreciate these labours as I strolled through courtyards, marble terraces and palatial buildings all centred onto The Hall of Eminent Favours – one of the largest wooden buildings in China.

As if this wasn't enough for one day our last night in Beijing was to enjoy a meal of Beijing (Peking) Duck in the Quanjude Restaurant, the largest duck restaurant in the World. This 'Duck Palace' has over forty dining rooms and can serve five thousand meals a day. Needless to say, the gang were a bit travel weary by this time and dissolved into laughter when the expert chef arrived at our table to carve our duck wearing a mask. Some bad taste SARS comments bounced around the group but I put this down to the bottles of very strong Chinese fruit wine that were spinning around the Lazy Susan. I have never been inside such a large and busy restaurant and as we left to return to our hotel at 9.00pm there were hundreds of people, mainly Chinese, queuing to have a meal.

The afternoon of day five we were to fly from Beijing to Shanghai on an internal flight for the next stage of our holiday but on the way to the airport that morning there was one more stop en route to The Temple of Heaven where emperors held their religious ceremonies. But again we were 'Minged' out as we felt culturally drained and all agreed that we were looking forward to our overnight stay in Shanghai and then boarding our river boat, The Victoria Rose, at Yuhan for a relaxing eight night cruise up the River Yangtze. Oh how we were to recall those words 'relaxing' in the days to come!

Tour prices for China vary enormously. This was our sixth holiday with Voyagers Jules Verne as they appear to be in the mid-price range and have always been completely reliable and efficient and always ensure their clients have comfortable and often luxurious accommodation, particularly on more strenuous touring holidays such as this. A Tour Manager is always supplied and they employ professional English speaking and knowledgeable local guides wherever required. The second part of our visit to China will focus on the Yangtze River Cruise, the Three Gorges and the new Dam, the Terracotta Warriors and our exciting trip in a cable car to the top of the Yellow Mountain; plus of course some personal observations – including the fog.

Towel Art

2009-08-17T03:44:00.001-07:00

100_0204.jpg, originally uploaded by mornev.

We are going on a river trip on the River Nile later in the year and this photo taken on board the Prince Abbas steam ship as we sailed Lake Nasser in Egypt several years ago always makes me feel happy.

While we were eating dinner on board on our last night, housekeeping got busy in our cabin using towels and Morty's clothes and sunglasses creating this ghostly figure holding empty envelopes ready to be stuffed with a healthy tip, thanking them for keeping our cabin so beautifully clean and cared for.

Certainly made us laugh and we were happy to give generously for such inspired towel art.

I Looked Over Jordan and What Did I see

2009-08-09T05:36:00.000-07:00

The 10.15 am five and a half hour flight from Gatwick to Aqaba in Jordan was smooth and the time passed quickly. I always get excited flying over deserts and even more so on this trip as we flew over the clear blue Red Sea and the resort of Aqaba, made a U-turn, approached the small airport from the sea landing at 3.30 pm. The immigration formalities were speedy and within half an hour our 'gang' of thirty Voyageurs Jules Verne travellers were seated in our coach with our Jordanian tour guide Omar giving us the basic details of what was happening next as we sped along the road to the Nabotaean rose-red city of Petra for a three night stay in the four star Crown Plaza Hotel; let the adventure of discovering Jordan begin.

We were to travel through the highways and deserts of Jordan staying in Petra, Amman and Aqaba in four and five star hotels, including the Radisson SAS in Aqaba. Even as a young woman I was useless at roughing it so Morty and myself do need the promise of luxury, a comfy bed, a good meal, a bath and a beer at the end of hot and strenuous days spent sightseeing, walking and often bumpy coach rides to prepare ourselves for the following day's excitement and culture.

Even though there had been an incident in August this year with some middle -eastern men renting a warehouse in Aqaba and firing missiles at some USA ships anchored in the Red Sea, missing their target and hitting the Israeli Red Sea resort of Eilat injuring an Israeli taxi-driver, we felt safe, although in retrospect I realise that we weren't. Unlike our 2004 visit to Egypt we had no armed guards escorting us in Jordan and no physical evidence of security at any of our hotels . Our guide told us how proud the Jordanians are of their King Abdullah, son of the late King Hussein and his British wife, who travels the world as a business man, wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase to promote his country.

Our first meal in Petra that evening was memorable. Although buffet-style, the Jordanian Mezzah of hummus, tahini, olives, salads, pitta, cracked wheat, aubergines, meatballs and soup was delicious. I soon realised that the Mezzah alone plus mouth watering Turkish style deserts of baklava, pancakes, halva, figs and sweet cinnamon scented rice puddings was my preferred choice so subsequently I omitted the hot dishes of lamb and chicken stews and shish kebabs.

We had an early start the next morning, so after a refreshing sleep and breakfast of fresh figs, yoghurt and coffee; we began our full day exploring Petra. Forget fashion and style. Wear walking shoes, wear a hat, carry water and apply sun protection. The two mile walk along the narrow corridor between the high rocks is a downward slope. There are fine horses, camels, pony and traps and donkeys for hire waiting at the entrance to Petra to taxi the visitor down but the walk isn't overly taxing. Along the way view sculptures in the rocks, Greek inscriptions and admire the light and shadow as the sun beams through the darkness of the narrow walkway. Then pause and hold your breath as the corridor opens up and the brilliant sunshine illuminates the grand treasury building of Petra carved from the rose-hued rock in the 1st century BC. You'll recognise the Corinthian columns from scenes in the film 'Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade'. You are in a special place.

Continue walking along a further narrow passage past several tombs to see a Roman style theatre discovered as recently as 1975 by archaeologists with work still in progress. See Roman public baths, shops and monuments along the once colonnaded main street then make the steep climb to the monastery, worth the effort for the panoramic views of mountains and deserts. Although the climb was strenuous and in some places slippery on the well worn steps, donkeys were carrying twenty stone men up to the monastery - with the overweight men being held in place by young Jordanian males otherwise they would have fallen off the donkey. Shame they didn't let them!

After one full day travelling and a full day at Petra we were exhausted so were delighted the have the next day free to relax by the hotel pool restoring ourselves for our evening walk to Petra by Night with only flickering candles to light our way. Night falls quickly so by 6.30 pm we were following the candle-lit route back to the treasury in Petra to hear Bedouin music and folklore followed by dinner in a restaurant in the heart of the rose-red city. The stars have never seemed so bright and numerous as we picked our way through the uneven terrain along the narrow corridor. I do wonder about future health and safety because two of our group fell over in the darkness, hurting themselves, and one man got blisters as he was wearing borrowed trainers. Buy your own trainers. Take a torch. By 8.30 pm we were eating a Bedouin meal in the open air and being entertained by music and dancing, relieved to discover we weren't walking back uphill with full stomachs and instead had a hair-raising drive back on unmade roads to the Plaza and a deep and satisfying sleep.

The next morning we made a fond farewell to Petra, destination Amman, and driven along The Kings Highway, thus named since Biblical times, journeying through the Holy Land stopping to see Karak Castle built by the Crusaders in the 12th century to impose Christian rule on the Middle East after capturing Jerusalem in 1099. Karak Castle was rebuilt as a set based on the ruins as they are now for the film 'The Kingdom of Heaven'. We stood high up on the roof of castle keep offering us magnificent views of the deserts of Jordan and Israel. Such history!

Time for a quick lunch at the castle then another stop en route to Mabada, the city of mosaics, to a 6th century Byzantine mosaic map of the Holy Land then on to the most revered site in Jordan, Mount Nebo; a peaceful and holy place with views standing on the highest point over the Dead Sea, Jordan, Bethlehem and Jerusalem with a memorial to the prophet Moses and the alleged site of his death and burial place. Once again, we had been travelling, sightseeing, walking and eating since breakfast in Petra and were pleased to arrive as night fell in Amman, the capital of Jordan, at the Amra Crown Plaza for a two night stay beginning with a shower, a beer, another great meal and another welcome and comfortable bed.

No lie-in opportunity though, as we were up early again as to travel east from Amman to visit the eastern desert towards the Iraqi boarder, with Syria to the north and Saudi Arabia to the south and tour the Roman Desert Castles built as frontier posts for the eastern edge of their empire. A bit too close to the Iraq, Syria and Saudi Arabia borders for comfort but I simply put it out of my mind as we passed Jordanian trucks taking supplies to Iraq and Iraqi oil tankers delivering to Jordan, then onwards to the Roman Decapolis city of Jerash in the north for lunch and a tour. The ten Roman/Greek cities of the Decapolis, founded mainly by Alexander the Great around 323 BC, were models of urban planning for the whole Middle East. This Roman city has been beautifully preserved as it was buried in sand. We spent a happy three hours exploring the arches, gates, temples, colonnades and theatres seating over three thousand spectators. I'm still not sure why we sat in the auditorium watching the bagpipes played by Jordanian pipers performing traditional Scottish songs!

Do you know? We were tired! Are you surprised? We were driven back to Amman in the early evening for our first 'proper' drink with another couple in the comfortable hotel bar, then to eat a light supper and have a very early night. The night life in Amman is exciting and varied with clubs and restaurants and excellent shopping facilities - if you have the energy.

Do you know? Its day five and we haven't unpacked yet, just our washing gear and a daily rummage in our cases for clean T/shirts. So, a final breakfast in Amman then cases back on the coach for the last leg of discovering Jordan driving along the scenic Wadi Araba road to the Red Sea resort of Aqaba for two nights.

But first, a half day tour of the sprawling city of Amman which has spread from the original seven hills to over twenty, urbanising valuable agricultural land in the process. We concentrated on the downtown area, the oldest part of the city, standing on ancient ruins of The Temple of Hercules dating back to AD161 and admiring the panoramic views of this ancient and bustling city. Leaving Amman we drove south to the Dead Sea for a swim and then lunch. We've been to the Dead Sea before on the Israeli side so knew what to expect. It was hot. It was still. It was spooky. Thankfully we were the only two in our group who didn't bathe in the Dead Sea that day. Omar, our guide, warned us there were sharp stones on the edges of the water but unfortunately almost everyone cut their feet quite severely on the stones and required attention. Others had stinging eyes and sore skin from the high salt and mineral content. They all said they were pleased to have bathed in the Dead Sea, but never again!

We arrived in Aqaba just before nightfall. The rooms in the Radisson SAS were spacious and comfortable, with a balcony overlooking the hotel pool, the beach bar and directly over the private sandy beach and the deep blue waters of the Red Sea. Twelve years ago we had spent a few days in the Israeli resort of Eilat across the bay and seen the white buildings of Aqaba from there. Now I was overlooking Eilat and the Egyptian Red Sea resort of Taba from our Jordanian hotel balcony.

At this stage I was getting tired of some of the group complaining about the repeated buffets and how they longed for a bowl of soup and a crusty roll. Or a pizza! One woman told us she only ever ate pasta and cheese and couldn't find any Middle Eastern foods to suit her. She looked like a huge bowl of cooked pasta and a lump of white fatty cheese so I had to bite my lip and hold my tongue and make no comment.

Nevertheless, when a younger couple in the group invited us to join them for an evening meal of seafood specialities in the Aqaba Yatch Club we accepted. We were both missing our regular fish meals and our taste buds fancied a change. That evening we sat on the terrace of the Yatch Club overlooking the Red Sea and the classy yachts eating an Italian meal of Antipasto and Frito Misto, drinking very good Jordanian wines complete with fun company and all was well with the world.

Aqaba is a perfect beach resort for those seeking sun, sea and sand, and water sports in the spring, autumn and winter with the airport a ten minute drive from the resort. Forget the summer months as it is far too hot and oppressive. Select the best hotel you can afford overlooking the beach, although Jordan isn't an expensive holiday destination. Aqaba is also a good base for optional excursions to visit the sort of cultural places of interest I've described so far in my review. I've seen one week in a five star beach hotel in Aqaba advertised for around £350 which is cheap for winter sun and without the strain of a long haul flight.

But we hadn't finished discovering Jordan just yet. After a morning at leisure basking on the glorious beach and quietly reading we were to drive to Wadi Rum, one of the world's most colourful and unique landscapes of desert and mountain scenery, to watch the dramatic sunset followed by dinner in a Bedouin tent. Most of the scenes for the film 'Laurence of Arabia' were shot using these landscapes at Wadi Rum (We rented 'Laurence of Arabia' on our first weekend back home and sat picking out the landmarks of Wadi Rum as we spotted them)

Considering nothing had happened to alarm me during our week in Jordan, including high mountain desert passes and overhanging hairpin bends in the coach, and driving near other Middle Eastern borders, this next adventure almost had me in tears. When I saw the line of ancient Toyota pick up trucks and was told we were to ride six in a truck in the open back I blanched. I blanched even more when I saw there were no seat belts, the windscreen was shattered with no clear vision and our driver must have been all of a twelve year old Jordanian boy-racer. What a hair-raising ride through the desert that was. I almost missed the famous rock formation of The Seven Pillars of Wisdom as I hung on for dear life. Bumping, tossing us around in the back, barely avoiding rocks, almost tipping over sending us flying out and going faster and faster as the manic drivers raced each other to the safety of the mountain where we were to sit and watch the sunset; I admit to unashamedly screaming like a baby both on the way there and on the way back - but I wouldn't have missed it for the world. We had our final candlelit dinner in Jordan in a huge Bedouin tent in the desert complete with more musicians and bonfires as the desert gets very cold at night; a fitting end to a wonderful travel experience. We left Aqaba and Jordan the next afternoon at four o'clock and arrived back at Gatwick at ten o'clock the same night, tired, happy and full of the wonders we had seen.

Buying gifts in Jordan was quite difficult. In most countries, such as China and Egypt, the local guides lead the visitor to shops encouraging them to spend money on things we don't really need to bring back home as gifts and mementos. This didn't happen in Jordan. We were there in Ramadan when all Muslims fast until sunset for one month. They must think we are strange always asking if we can stop for a mint tea or a coffee and what time are we stopping for lunch. The only places the visitor can drink alcohol is in the tourist hotel bars and the hotel room mini-bars. The Jordanian currency, the dinar, is the easiest ever to convert as one dinar equals about one pound sterling. English is widely spoken and we were made to feel welcome and treated with respect and warmth. We have been to Tunisia, Morocco, and Israel and twice to Egypt and now Jordan. I am sad to admit this may be the last time we visit the Middle East for a while and there is still so much of it to see and enjoy; hopefully in more peaceful times?

Romantic Dinners

2009-07-30T09:18:00.000-07:00

“ I love you” is extremely romantic! “Get your kit off” is overtly sexual! “Dinner’s ready!” is assured to raise Morty’s endorphin levels. Combine the three and he’s mine, all mine! Maybe he’d be anybody’s!

The power of erotic food is based mainly on folklore and has never been scientifically proven. Substances that by nature symbolized "seed or semen" such as bulbs, eggs, snails and nuts were considered naturally to have sexual influence. If a food resembled the genitalia then it was reasoned it had sexual powers.

The mind itself is a powerful aphrodisiac and the sensations of touch, smell. texture, aural, heat, visual plus imagination can affect the heart rate and stimulate sexual desire. This romantic dinner for two will have length and strength, based on certain foods, drinks, fragrances, colours and the power of suggestion.

Create an Evocative Mood

We will both wear sensual black clothes, mine of lace and velvet and his of cashmere and linen. The table is covered with a deep red velour cloth and matching deep red linen napkins. There is no cutlery, just large finger bowls filled with warm water and fresh slices of lime. Our complete meal will be eaten using our own and each others fingers as our tools, enabling us to sense the feel as well as the taste of our romantic meal.

The fine china is pure white porcelain in order to display the colour and contour of the foods we are about to eat. The glasses are cut glass lead crystal. The only lighting radiates from vanilla scented candles. The fragrance of vanilla will act as a sexual stimulant. There are deep red roses, and two personal gifts we will exchange later in the evening. The music is soft, low and unobtrusive.

Cocktails

We begin with dry cocktails to purify and heighten our taste buds for the events that are to follow:

For Her ‘Brazen Hussey’

1 ounce vodka
1 ounce Cointreau
1/2 ounce lemon juice

In a shaker half-filled with ice cubes, combine all of the ingredients. Shake well. Strain into a cocktail glass.

For Him ‘Romeo’

1 oz light rum
1 oz Cointreau
1/2 oz lemon juice
3 oz strawberry puree

Blend ingredients with crushed ice. Pour into 14 oz bulb glass. Garnish with whole strawberry.

Appetising Foreplay

Gently Steaming Asparagus

These phallus-shaped spears are thought to be stimulating and have an aphrodisiac effect. Just look at an asparagus spear and liberate your imagination. Simply tie the trimmed, fresh green asparagus spears in bundles, keeping the tightly packed tips level and open steam for ten minutes according to size, as in all things, size does matter. Toss gently in melted lemon butter, or serve cold with hollandaise, vinaigrette or mayonnaise. Feeding each other spears, sucking the delicate tips allowing the melted butter to ooze, we will use the napkins and finger bowls to mop up the juices.

A young innocent Chardonnay will balance the powerful flavour of our asparagus and lemon butter.

The Main Intercourse

New Zealand Green Lip Mussels a la Mariniere

New Zealand Green Lipped Mussels are sweet, tender, delicate, plump and juicy, and grow to about eight inches in size, though we will be eating the more acceptable four inches! Meat colour varies from apricot flesh (female) to cream (male). The elongated shells are a beautiful, brownish-green on one end but changing to green at its broad lip, broken up by dark-brown stripes, giving an illusion of mother-of-pearl. Unlike the blue mussel, the green shell mussel's shell is slightly open in its natural state, which New Zealanders refer to as "smiling." The shell closes tightly when the mussel is subjected to stress, freshwater or rough handling. Just
like us ladies!

A throbbing, gently pulsating broth of butter, shallots, white wine and chopped parsley is simmering in a large pan. We drop the mussels into the broth for two minutes, scoop them out into a large bowl and pour the liquor over them. Using an empty mussel double shell as tweezers, we pull the ample plump, inviting creamy flesh from the attractive shells and feed, all the time tearing the French bread apart and plunging it into the mussel liquor to soak up the juicy liquid.

A salad of vine ripened cherry tomatoes and rocket leaves tossed in a basil vinaigrette will accompany this seductive yet earthy dish. Raw Rocket stimulates lust, Basil is reputed by Hindu males as an aphrodisiac because it resembles the female organ, and tomato is frequently called the love apple.

We will hit the spot together and drink a full, energetic, bright and snappy, dry New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc with its tart flavours and length in the mouth.

The Climax

Fruit Nipples and Spicy Chocolate Fondue

Strawberries are referred to as ‘Fruit Nipples’ in erotic literature. The spiciness in the Chocolate Fondue is from dried habaneras chillies! The chilli is thought of as a very potent sexual stimulant. Chocolate is one of the unquestionable kings of aphrodisiacs, the Indians called it the "Nourishment of the Gods".

Bring a cup of water to a boil, toss in the habaneras chillies, and cover for 10 minutes until the habaneras are mushy-soft. Pull them out, chop them as fine as can be, then mash them to a pulp. Melt chocolate in a double boiler or microwave . Add the habanera pulp, stir, and heat again until the chocolate is a thick and creamy yet liquid enough for dipping the strawberries.

Together, we will dip the strawberries into the fondue dish full of the spicy, hot melted chocolate and relish the contrast of the textures and tastes.

A bowl of fresh figs and pine nuts a
re waiting to be sampled. The erotic, fleshy fruit of the fig is said to act as a powerful sexual stimulant and has been thought of for centuries as a symbol of fertility and love. Also it is no coincidence that the fig leaf has been used to cover the genitals of those embarrassed by their nakedness.

"The Perfumed Garden" contains many references to pine nuts. Quoting Galen (circa 130-200 A.D.) it is recommended to drink a glassful of thick honey and eat twenty almonds and one hundred pine nuts before going to bed. After repeating this for three nights, men will acquire vigour for coition.

There is only one drink that will compliment our dessert. Mead or ‘Honeywine’ made from honey; Mead is at the root of the term "honeymoon"! Newlyweds would by tradition drink mead for the month after their wedding. This was supposed to help produce a baby boy.

Shakespeare, in Macbeth: Act II: Scene III writes of alcohol:

“it provokes and it unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance.”

But in spite of this we will have a suitable digestive containing aniseed. Aniseed has aphrodisiac properties but I feel this may be superfluous to our needs at this stage of our meal, and we will have a small glass of the following liqueur purely for medicinal purposes ! The Italian Liqueur Sambuca con Mosca, translates as ‘Sambuca with Flies’………is aniseed based and we will drink it the traditional way with three coffee beans floating in the top, light the liqueur and watch the flame dwindle as the alcohol is burnt away.

Pre-Conjugal

Between the Sheets

There is only one after dinner cocktail to have at this stage of our romantic evening. The cocktail that is intended to seduce!

1 oz. cognac
1 oz. Cointreau
1 oz. Dry gin
Juice of 2 lemons

Put all ingredients into a cocktail shaker with crack
ed ice and shake. Strain into a cocktail glass.

The Next Morning

Morty: “What’s for breakfast babe?”
Me: “ Get up and get your own!”

A Proper Sunday Roast

2009-07-27T10:11:00.000-07:00

This is more like it. My roast rib of beef was presented like this in our local town centre pub on Sunday lunchtime. A full and crispy Yorkshire, proper roasted potatoes and roasted parsnip with very tasty roast beef complete with some fat and a bit of blood. The gravy began it's life in a real stock-pot and we were given a gravy boat too. Fresh vegetables were served on the side.

This plate of food certainly wasn't posh looking, more family service, but the taste was perfect. Although I enjoyed a roast in Wales where they placed a mound of smooth mashed potato as a base in the centre of the plate and layered the beef on top, then topped that with a huge Yorkshire filled with creamed horseradish. Maybe height doesn't matter but it looked really good.

Meanwhile, my complaint last week to the management of another local hotel about The Roast That Wasn't A Roast resulted in a voucher for a Sunday Lunch for two and a genuine apology for the service given on the day.

The Spy Who Came In For Lunch

2009-07-23T05:44:00.000-07:00

It was the normal mid-week lunch service in our small, busy pub in the market square of a West Dorset town. The regular retired men sat at their usual table by the bar arguing whose round it was. Chef busy in the kitchen making crab sandwiches and cooking the fresh catch of the day. I was busy serving drinks and taking food orders. That lovely bubble of conversation, clatter of cutlery and happy customers - creating a warm atmosphere. Pretty perfect.

The bar door opened and a tall, elegant elderly man entered along with an equally well dressed male companion. The man asked where they should sit for lunch and as he seemed to expect table service I showed them to a table, pointed out the blackboard menus and gave them a wine list as requested. I sensed a kind of hush in the atmosphere of the bar. A sharp contrast to the previous relaxed noise level.

As I got back behind the bar my old lunchtime men were huddled together and whispering. The entire bar had stopped talking. Chef and the rest of the kitchen staff appeared through the bar door and peered across to the table where the two elderly men were sitting quietly conversing. But they were well aware of the sensation they'd caused. This was 1979 and the man was Anthony Blunt 'The Fourth Man' of the Cambridge Spy Ring, the other three being Burgess, Maclean and Philby.

I struggled to keep my cool as I took their food order of fresh crayfish salads and a bottle of Chablis. I was used to serving celebrities but not a Real Spy; but they were extremely polite to me, trying to help me through my obvious awe-struck discomfort. They did play up to their audience and gave them what they wanted as they chatted to each other, with frequent touching of hands and much flirting eye contact. Quite outrageous shows of homosexuality in such a place as this. My old men didn't know where to look and grim mutterings of disapproval and '....shouldn't be allowed...' carried through the hushed pub as people couldn't bring themselves to act normally as this news had only just hit the newspapers It was big.

There were more shocks to come as news had spread, as it does, throughout the small town and as soon as we'd closed for the afternoon we had a visit from the local police telling us that MI5 would be paying us a visit later that day for questions.

And they did. MI5 wanted to know every little detail about Blunt and his companion. What they were wearing, what they ate, time of arrival and departure. Did they talk to anybody else while they were here? No. Only me. No, they didn't use the toilets. It was so exciting.

I was right excited when I 'phoned our weekly local paper telling the all about it as I fancied a bit of free publicity. It wasn't to be - the main news that week was a seagull stuck up a chimney and having to be rescued. Perhaps Blunt was too top secret.

Braised Crocodile Anyone?

2009-07-21T02:30:00.000-07:00

And this is a dish of braised crocodile. I ate this in Cambodia. I did! I ate this and it was marginally more palatable than the razor clams - but only just. Just off for a Private Heave.

Fresh Market Food Phnom Penh

2009-07-21T02:19:00.000-07:00

No matter how poor a country the true sense of the people is in the fresh foods found in their local markets. The above is a very small selection of the colourful home grown foods in the market at Phnom Penh on the Mekong Delta in Camodia. I know I ate all of these foods on the boat but can't tell you what they are - aren't they appetising?

Is This a Roast Dinner?

2009-07-20T02:44:00.000-07:00

If you ordered a Sunday Roast Dinner in an award winning restaurant costing £10.50 for one course would you be happy with the above plate of food? I wasn't.

That is a grilled pork loin chop. The three halves of pale and soft potatoes are not roasted. They have been boiled and turned in a roasting dish to add a bit of colour. Spinach was fine. So was the braised red cabbage. The teaspoon of gravy was a meagre offering. Where is the Yorkshire pudding? The apple sauce? The gravy boat? Traditional vegetables?

We were eating outside in the courtyard and once we'd been served there were no signs of any follow up waiting staff to ask and we couldn't be bothered to leave our food and go in search. Surely we shouldn't have to even consider doing that.

I have emailed the restaurant with my complaint and asked them if they consider the above is a Sunday Roast Dinner. I would have complained to the owners if they had been present but their team of young staff had been left to manage on their own and they were harrassed and overworked with that glazed eyed look of weariness.

Seemed to have spent a large amount of money eating out this weekend and apart from the excellent fish and chips its all been a disappointment.

Posh Fish 'n' Chips

2009-07-20T02:10:00.000-07:00

Perfect Posh Fish and Chips. That little bit of a green splodge is a puree of mushy peas. Those Sumo chips were delicious. The batter on the fish was very light and crispy and the fish inside creamy textured and perfectly cooked. Home made tartare sauce meant I didn't have to ask for mayo on the side for chip dunking. The half a lemon had been flash heated on the grill so it didn't make the fish cold. Nice touch.

Well done The Bull Hotel.

Razor Clams

2009-07-19T04:23:00.000-07:00

I ate these last night. They are razor clams. I will never eat them again. They are obscene.

BT Rant and Update

2009-07-10T07:56:00.000-07:00

At 3.30pm on the 1st of July my BT Broadband connection wimpered to a halt. There was a glimmer of hope every half hour or so as the router connected. When it did connect it took over ten minutes to open a single webpage. Outlook Express 'Could Not Find Server'.

I began my telephone campaign to BT Broadband Help on the 2nd July. I thought this could take some time. It is now the 10th July and I'm still 'phoning them and I'm still not connected for more than five minutes and when I am it is painfully slow.

On the 2nd July, after five different technical advisors involving five individual 'phonecalls and all my security stuff repeated over and over, I was told it was my router - it was broken. We've tried three different routers since then. They can't all be broken can they? No improvement. During this three hours on the 'phone to BT an advisor commented that I was still on Classic Broadband with a speed of 2.2Mbps. Apparently I should be on a speed of about 8 Mbps.

Up until July 1st I was happy with this low speed. It all seemed fast enough to me - until that afternoon. Why haven't I been upgraded before?

I was given the BT Customer Sales number where I was told my BT Broadband would be updated on the 9th July. And this will cost less monthly than I'm paying at the moment. They tried to sell me a package involving televisions, telephones and hubs. I told the advisor I didn't want any packages and didn't need a new hub because on BT's advice I'd replaced it already. But of course it wasn't a BT Hub. It was a third party Hub. But you need a BT Router/Hub. I remained calm as I told him I had been using a BT Router, had been told it was broken by the technical advisor so had replaced it with a Third Party Router/Hub. And that as well as the three different Router/Hubs tested on my Home Networking System the original, allegedly broken BT Router/Hub wasn't broke. It worked as well, or as badly as the three test ones.

Surely the fault isn't here with me? It must be with BT Broadband? No, your line has been tested and it is fine. So I resigned myself to waiting for the 9th of July. All would be well. I would be zinging my way around the InterWeb at speeds faster than I could cope with.

A week is a long time to be disconnected. From the 2nd July until the 9th I have had to telephone bank. Pay some bills with a cheque and stick a stamp on an envelope. Go to the supermarket rather than an online Tesco Home Delivery. Couldn't do my dear Mum's Tesco shopping online for her home delivery 200 miles away. Couldn't buy a frock I don't need online. This way of communicating, doing business, socialising, shopping is integral to my way of living.

Might as well take the washing machine away and tell me I have to do laundry in the stream and bash clothes clean with a rock.

But of course this didn't happen. On the morning of the 10th my BT Broadband has not been upgraded. Nothing's changed. I am still limping along. So I begin 'phoning BT Broadband again at nine o'clock this morning. As of now I have spoken to six seperate BT Advisors. By the fifth I start to get a picture. The fifth tells me at last that There Is A Fault with my Broadband connection. Just like I've been telling them for over a week. That there is a fault and it is at their end and not here. They tell me their 'Offline Team' are working on it now. Is the 'Offline Team' men with ladders and vans?

I have just 'phoned BT Broadband again to get the latest information on my upgrade. The 'Offline Team' are not working on it right now. My upgrade is guess where? In a Flossing Queue. I have been given yet another new Direct Line to 'phone tomorrow - if perchance the fault hasn't been located and repaired - which will take me to Order Management.

I have a sheet of paper with at least one dozen BT contact numbers with titles such as Customer Options, Customer Sales, Direct Customer Options, Order Management, BT TV Management, BT Yahoo Broadband and so on..and on..and on.

Update to follow. And here it is.

Today 11th July I have been told by Order Management that the Equipment That Tests the Broadband is - yes - you've guessed it - It Is Broken. It Is Broken. Just like my Broadband has been broken since the 1st July.

Today 12th July: I phone Order Management at 9.00am. I am told my Broadband Can't be updated. Something about my line. I didn't ask for an upgrade I tell him. I just wanted my almost non-existent Broadband connection running like it was at 2.2 before July 1st. He tells me to phone Technical Help. No I scream. That's India. I can't go there again. He wishes me a nice day and the call ends.

I phone Customer Sales and begin all over again. I am asked to hold while she talks to a colleague. I hold. She has put me through to India and Technical Help. I faint. Repeat all my details for the hundreth time. I am in shock. I am asked to hold again while he talks to another colleague and when he returns he tells me he has spoken to Order Managment, where I was one hour ago. He tells me Order Management will upgrade my BB on Tuesday 14th July. How can this be? More lies?

So I phone Order Management again. I repeat what I was told at nine this morning and ask him to confirm what India has told me; that I will be upgraded on the 14th with an upgrade I haven't asked for because I only want what is broken right now mended. He confirms the first upgrade failed and it is booked for Tuesday the 14th July. Oh woe.

Meanwhile I have composed a very much tidied up version of this frantic Blog entry and am poised ready to send this less manic version to Ofcom and BT Complaints.

Afters

2009-04-14T09:39:00.000-07:00

And this was my pudding at The Bath Priory. Rhubarb Plate. Under the lid of the white receptacle on the left is a rhubarb crumble. The shot glass is rhubarb and custard with lemongrass foam and a sorbet in the centre of the slate plate. I love dishes with the same ingredient prepared in different ways. This was fun to eat.

A tub of tulips on the terrace.

My Mystery Birthday Treat

2009-04-07T09:10:00.000-07:00

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I knew we were on the road to Bath but where we were staying and having dinner was a mystery. I didn't know where until we drove up the crunchy gravelled drive and arrived at The Bath Priory Hotel.

This was my birthday treat. Bloke did the same for me last year when we stayed and ate at Baslow Hall in Derbyshire. And he pulled off the same surprise this year. Whenever we're going away I look up the hotels/B & Bs on TripAdvisor to get some idea of what we're in for. I like a bit of prior knowledge. This can raise or lower expectations. If it's going to be a surprise then let it all unfold.

The photo above is our afternoon tea sat in the stunning lounge at The Bath Priory. One finger sandwich is missing because Bloke was in there eating before I got to get my camera out. Most of my What I Had To Eat photos have an image of his hand foraging for food and spoiling the look.

Later, sitting in the bar drinking a Campari and Soda and tasting canapes at seven o'clock before dinner Bloke said,

"There's the Chef"

It was Michael Caines OBE. That Chef. This was getting better by the moment. He is very good looking with a glossy complexion that shows he uses Products on his face. He is Executive Chef at the Bath Priory Spa Hotel and is only there for a couple of months and then moving on to run his expanding business empire called aBode

Worth following the link because he is expanding in the UK everywhere and after our great dining experience I certainly wish him well. He deserves success in the future.

Here's my first course of Brixham scallops, veal sweetbreads, pea puree and morel veloute.

Here's my Rack of Lamb. It was stunning. In between we were served a demi-tasse of asparagus soup with such an intense flavour - essence of asparagus.

The Bath Priory is a beautiful place to stay or just visit for an afternoon tea. Sit in their landscaped gardens. View the art work in the lounges and sitting rooms.

Two sandwiches and two coffees at a motorway service station cost almost the same as afternoon tea here - in glorious settings and a sense of being pampered.

This Jacket and My Income Tax

2009-04-02T09:46:00.000-07:00

My accountant phoned me this morning to tell me The Inland Revenue are after my outstanding income tax payment that was due at the end of January. Mr Inland Revenue usually leaves me alone as I stagger through the year making a payment as and when I can. So I was surprised by this.

"Don't be" said accountant "The Treasury have told them To Get The Money In this year"

I phoned Mr Inland Revenue and promised another payment for next week and would pay the remaining outstanding amount in a few weeks time. I was told they needed a specific date for this payment as I am in danger of being sent a distress warrant to claim possessions to the value of this amount, plus a £40 penalty, plus interest.

I was fine with this until I saw this photo of Mrs Brown taken yesterday evening wearing a Graeme Black designer jacket that allegedly cost £9000.00. I shall write that in words. Nine Thousand Pounds. I've got a similar jacket, better than that, from Next and it did not cost Nine Thousand Pounds. More like £40.00.

So now I'm not fine with this demand. I am very miffed.

Should I be?

Family Tree

2009-03-23T12:42:00.000-07:00

I met a Genealogist in Cambodia. As we chatted together she became fascinated with my family history. She feels it is important for us to know and understand where we come from in order to know and understand who we are. Why we are like we are. Maggie lectures and studies Genealogy professionally and lives in Beijing.

I gave her two family names. One was my Grandfather's name. This is Luder - my birthname. The other was my Grandmother's name. This is Bluestone.

My Paternal Grandparents were Polish and Russian. Maggie has since discovered passenger lists on the Aquitania leaving Southampton, destination New York, naming Harry Bluestone born in a town called Plock in Poland, aged sixteen in 1911 and my Grandmother's younger brother, as a passenger off to seek a new life.

The Luder family seem easier to track. I know my Grandfather came from a town, in what is now The Ukraine, called Gorodok.

Sometimes family stories can be Urban Myths. Embellished to make them more interesting. More compelling. This family story is fact.

Around 1905 a young man was murdered in the town of Gorodok in the Ukraine. The officials of the town declared a Jew was probably the killer and that it was alright for any Jew to be killed for no other reason other than revenge.

My Grandfather, just a boy, along with his younger brothers and sisters, hid in the cellar of their home in Gorodok as an attacker with a sword aimed to kill them all. He took pity on them and instead killed their cat and spread the blood around the house tricking any other intruders to believe The Jews had been killed.

That's when The Luder family left and took refuge in the UK.

I'm not much of a family person beyond who matters to me in a close and a now way. My dear Mum, my daughter, my grandsons matter more than anything. Beyond first cousins would be too much for me as I am more interested in why and how or what strength of charactor and survival allowed my Luder and my Bluestone Grandparents to make that journey to the UK with no money, belongings, no language and start again.

I already knew and felt these strengths before I met Maggie the Genealogist from Beijing but somehow seeing all these facts trailed back, my own researching on the Interweb discovering the history of the towns where they were born and the horrors they escaped from have reinforced my belief in myself. Why I am like I am. Why I feel like I feel.

Then, there is a startling fact that emerges from all of this. So far, all the towns, such as Plock, where they were all born or lived are on rivers.

My favourite travel experiences are always on rivers. I love canals as well. I see there's a river trip along the Vistula where Leah Bluestone was born and her brother Harry.

I can sense one coming on.

Good Nosh

2009-03-16T10:49:00.000-07:00

This was my first course in a lively new restaurant called Fennel at Whaley Bridge in The High Peaks in Derbyshire. It was a bit unusual because it was smoked, poached haddock with grilled parmesan on a crumpet. I can imagine the kitchen was using the smoked salmon with cream cheese on a blini theme. It worked OK. Although crumpets should be served piping hot with loads of melting butter and perhaps doesn't lend itself to this sort of presentation as the crumpet was a bit soggy from the smoked haddock juices. Top marks for being inventive.

Here's my main course. Rack of lamb on a bed of crushed potatoes with a good gravy. I always order lamb when I'm in The Peaks because there are thousands of sheep roaming and grazing the hills and I expected it to taste good and it certainly did.

It was a great evening spent with Our Friends From The North. Lively. Plenty to talk and laugh about.

Fennel's has a sixteen -seater bus and it picks up and takes home diners whenever they want at no extra charge. Taxis are a bit dodgy around here as they often tend to charge for the journey to pick you up then add on your actual fare. Then they charge again for driving back to take you home and then again for your actual journey. I can't make sense of this at all. One weekend spent in The Peaks we were charged almost thirty pounds for a return journey to a restaurant in the next village - a fare that would have cost us a tenner here in Dorset.

So it was wonderful to be picked up at the canal-side pub we were staying in overnight by the Fennel bus (beautifuly painted in Fennel Green) at 7.30 and then six of us taken to eat and drink as much as we wanted and then driven back home again.

Well done Fennel.

Contrasts

2009-03-13T10:56:00.000-07:00

I've often heard people who have been to India say they felt guilty as they traveled in luxury and saw the poverty that surrounded them. I have never experienced those feelings of guilt until Cambodia. Above is a picture of our cabin window and our wicker chairs on the deck. A private and luxurious place to sit and watch The Mekong as we sailed along.

These are the houses families live in along The Mekong Delta. In the rainy season the Mekong rises and the stilts are hidden under water. I didn't feel too guilty as there's not much I can do about our contrasting lives. I did buy as many locally made souvenirs as I could. I did take all the toiletries supplied in the bathroom on the boat and give them to the local women every day.

During our three day stay in a hotel in Seam Reap while we explored Angkor Wat my very cheap New Look watch strap broke. I chucked the strap into the bin in our hotel room and kept the watch face on my bedside table.

I went into our room while the girl was cleaning it. I apologised for disturbing her and said I'd come back later. She called me back and excitedly showed me my watch. She'd seen the strap in the bin, got some glue and mended the strap, fixed it to the face so the watch looked as new.

I can only hope she thought I'd accidently thrown the strap away. Not that I thought it was a cheap, throw-away item. Then I really did feel guilty.

Jenni Didn't Titter

2009-03-07T10:11:00.000-08:00

Did anyone else hear Jenni Murray interviewing Sir Bob on Womans Hour, Friday 6th March at ten in the morning?

She said to Gedorf,

'I hear Iran has an erection coming up soon.'

I waited for a Giggle Explosion but there wasn't one. Sir Bob replied as if she'd said 'Election' and Jenni continued the interview. I assumed it wasn't live and must have been edited out because it was so funny and the sort of gaffe that would have had the studio cracking up with laughter.

I Am Being Frivolous

2009-03-05T11:07:00.000-08:00

I imagine as we all get older we have a Bucket List. Things we must do Before We Die. My Bucket List doesn't include travel because I've done that and still doing it and if I had to stop now I wouldn't be saying 'I wish I'd been to China, Cuba, Africa, Russia' and so on because I have. If I had to spend future holidays in a hotel in Torquay gazing over Torbay waiting for somebody to bring me my medication my memories would be with the exotic destinations I have visited. Those memories will keep me going.

But, I've never owned a designer handbag. I have always scorned those with a desire to own a designer handbag. I do have a cupboard full of handbags bought from the high street. Not a designer handbag amongst them. Not until in a Mad Menopausal Moment at Heathrow on our last holiday to Vietnam and Cambodia when I found myself handing over a fistful of sterling to a disinterested sales-person in the Mulberry Outlet. I felt faint. What was I doing? I love my Mulberry bag. I don't need anybody else to recognise it as An Expensive Designer Handbag. Owning one is in my Bucket List. So that's ticked off.

Then there's a Manicure. When I owned my first Hairdressing Salon I sent one of my apprentices to Revlon in London for a one week training course. It was an expensive week for me as I had to pay her, her travelling expenses and the training, and a temp to fill her space, but her new skills lifted my business and my weekly takings went up. She was so busy there was never enough time for me to have a manicure. Why do my nails when she could have a paying customer.

This afternoon I ticked off another Bucket List item. I've had something wonderful done to my nails at Beauty & Beyond in my local High Street. The charming Amanda worked on my nails for one hour and transformed my fingertips with tips and gels into things of beauty. I can use my keyboard in comfort. My hands look and feel elegant. I shall have them Filled in two weeks time and that'll take half an hour. Half an hour every two weeks is a lot less than I've spent in the past fussing about them. Buying nail products that haven't worked. Chipped nail colour and dodgy cuticles.

So what next on the List? I'm going to buy something from this wonderful Scandinavian clothes catalogue. These are clothes way out of my comfort zone. As well as my price zone. They are organic and artistic. Soft and fluid.

I'll let you know.

Would You Drink These?

2009-03-04T03:10:00.000-08:00

Three Christmases ago I bought this evil Vodka. Those things inside the bottle are Infernally Hot Peppers. We all had a shot glass of it and none of us could speak for hours. It is truly horrendous.

So when I saw this bottle of spirits in a shop in Cambodia complete with a dead snake inside I thought of my bottle of Inferno and pondered - if I was forced to drink from one of these bottles which would I choose.

I hope I never have to choose.

New Glasses

2009-02-26T10:47:00.000-08:00

I still need two pairs of glasses. One pair for reading and another for driving and watching the television. I don't need glasses for walking about - yet. But the prescriptions are getting closer so I reckon in two years time when I have my eye test they'll tell me I need one pair with graduated lenses. That's OK because this 'buy one set of designer frames and get one free' will mean I can have a pair of prescription sunglasses as well so that I can read, drive and walk about wearing shades. And have a glass of wine in the pub during the day wearing shades because I need to see.

I love my new red glasses. They match my lipstick.

2009-02-23T09:55:00.000-08:00

I thought I'd focus on the children who live in the villages along the Mekong Delta. They live in bamboo houses built on stilts. At high tide and during the rainy season their houses are at water level so they step out of their front doors directly into their boats. During the dry season and at low tide they walk down the wooden steps onto dry land. They are very poor. The river is their life. They fish, they dredge, they harvest silt, sand and wait for tourists to disembark from their luxury Colonial River Cruisers and sell them stuff. These children are irresistible.

"Hello. You have dollar? You buy my scarf?"

I bought seven scarves for twenty dollars. I asked our guide if they were made locally. She said

"Mostly"

Back on the boat a fellow passenger said she'd bought identical scarves in TopShop and they were made in China.

These little boys were selling a tray of six homemade cakes for One Dollar. I said I wasn't hungry.

"You not hungry? I'm hungry. Baby hungry. Buy my cakes. One dollar"

I didn't buy their cakes but I gave them five dollars.

I didn't buy their cakes because there was a sign at the entrance to their water village on the Mekong saying

"Do not buy cakes from the children because they are made with out of date ingredients and you will get colic if you eat them"

I did give them five dollars because my youngest grandson is about the same age as the oldest little boy in this photo. This Christmas my grandson bought himself an electric guitar with his Christmas money. It cost him £175. He still has to learn how to play it.

This little boy has nothing. He's trying to sell me cakes that could hospitalise me. He, and his sisters, is likely to be sent away to work in textile factories in Cambodian cities. Sent away to work in a tourist hotel in Ankar Wat. To clean hotel rooms. In the kitchens. They are children. I try to imagine my grandsons being sent away from home at this tender age to work in a factory. I can't visage this without hurting.

These two pretty little girls were eating raw sugar cane for their afternoon snack. They are poor. As we approached their village they ran up to the men in our group, all aged over fifty, and asked them if they could teach them English and "Have you got a wife?"

The men felt uncomfortable. Understandably.

The Killing Fields

2009-02-20T09:15:00.000-08:00

If I had been told in the 1970s that one day I'd be travelling through Vietnam and Cambodia on a luxury river boat I would have said this was madness. May as well tell me I'd be holidaying on the moon. So throughout this trip I had to keep telling myself this was real. I was there. Although I have titled this The Killing Fields I don't feel ready to write about this experience yet. I've been to Auschwitz and Birchenau death camps and thought I was prepared for the horrors the gentle, warm and friendly Cambodian people went through- but I wasn't. Instead, here's a picture of me resting under a palm tree near Phnom Penh, shading myself from the intense heat and humidity. The Killing Fields must wait.

This is the boat, the RV Tonle Pandaw, that was our home for eight days on the Mekong Delta. This was the best river boat we've ever been on as it was a replica of the colonial steamers developed in Scotland by the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company in the early part of the last century, yet all built in the last ten years in Rangoon and Saigon. There were just thirty cabins on two decks with a mixture of passengers of all nationalities including Australians, Dutch, French, German, Canadians and Americans. Over half of the forty passengers were from the UK. We all seemed to be intent on spending what we've got and enjoying it rather than saving for that rainy day. We journeyed 565 miles upstream from Saigon in Vietnam to Siem Reap in Cambodia, making side trips in small boats through back-waters and wetlands, where we disembarked and spent three days visiting the temples at Angkor Wat.

The boat was superbly fitted out in varnished teak and brass. The cabins were very comfortable with divine air conditioning as well as perfect showers. The upper observation sun-deck served tea, coffee, soft drinks, local beer and gin, whiskey, rum and brandy from six in the morning until whenever. All free. This was a very pleasant surprise as we usually run up a hefty bar bill at the end of our river cruises so it was a first for us - drinks included. I was a bit wary of the Local Gin until I tasted my first one and it was as good as a Gordons.

More to come.

This Is Not My Hand

2009-02-19T04:21:00.000-08:00

There is so much to say about our wonderful two week trip to Vietnam and Cambodia, including one week cruising up the Mekong Delta in a Paddlesteamer, so I thought I'd begin with the spiders. And this isn't my hand. I couldn't do that. Never. We are in a Spider Market in Cambodia. That huge spider is about to be deep fried and served with fresh garlic and then eaten.

This is a bucket full of deep fried spiders. And they aren't my pink Crocs or floral pants either. Several Brave Brits actually nibbled on the deep fried spiders. Just the legs and declared it was like eating garlic flavoured matchsticks. Not one of them was bold enough to eat the body. Can you imagine that? Soft and squishy spider body.

I suppose if I was hungry enough. No. I'd rather eat the pink Crocs. Which reminds me. I did eat Crocodile Tail for dinner in Cambodia and guess what? It tasted just like chicken.

View Through a Glass Bathroom

2009-01-12T11:47:00.000-08:00

Look closely at the image above. Yes, its a hotel bedroom. The Continental Forum Hotel in Sibiu, a beautiful medieval city in Transylvania, where we stayed for two nights in September 2008 as part of our Tour of Romania.

See that glass apparition on the right? That is the glass bathroom. Can you see the lavatory on the left? Sort of hanging with no visible means of support.

This was our third hotel as we travelled through Romania, Transylvania and Moldavia. The previous hotels had been Stalinist Soviet Cement Blocks, Romantic Castles once belonging to Aristocratic Romanian Gentry and a converted post office in Bucharest. Quite a variety, all charming and comfortable, but we were looking forward to a couple of nights in a prestigious modern hotel for the contrast.

First impressions as we entered our room were great. The room was large, clean and very comfortable looking with good lighting and mirrors everywhere - and then we saw the bathroom. The bathroom was made of glass. Some of the glass walls were slightly frosted, but not all of them. What were the architects thinking of?

We were a group of sixteen. When we met the others in the hotel lobby bar before dinner the main topic of chat was The Glass Bathroom. The two elderly gays who'd been a couple since the 1960s were distressed at the lack of privacy. Two blokey mates said they thought they knew everything about each other until then. The couple who'd been married for forty years didn't like the concept even after all thsoe years of sharing.

One man travelling on his own had his glass bathroom situated in the centre of his single room and because of all the walled mirrors could see himself from all angles as he sat there and was grateful for travelling alone.

Modesty and Morty aren't usually words used in the same sentence but that night after dinner as he ventured into the Glass Lavvy even he said 'Don't look!'

I tried not to look but wherever I settled my eyes there were mirror images all reflecting images of personal ablutions. I hated it. I imagined this being our first travelling experience together; charged with the secrecy and excitement of getting to know each other intimately. No chance of that in a Glass Bathroom. There were no secrets.

Nothing To Do With George

2009-01-09T09:22:00.000-08:00

I'll drink cheap wine all the time. Although I would prefer to drink expensive wine all the time. But I won't drink cheap coffee. Maybe because after the first couple of glasses of cheap wine I don't notice the taste? But cheap coffee tastes nasty down to the last drop doesn't it?

I have a graveyard of coffee machines and coffee makers. Even the stainless steel cafetiere let me down. Took ages to push the plunger down and more than once hot coffee shot out and burnt my hand. My Bialletti Stove Top Espresso was great to start but eventually made coffee that tasted like mud. Plus it wouldn't unscrew for pouring without a struggle and I've burnt worktops with the scalding base -perhaps after drinking cheap wine.

Filter coffee makers are full of promise but who wants stewed coffee kept warm on a hotplate? Percolated coffee is grim. And all of them leave me with used ground coffee to get rid of. I don't have a compost heap so they had to go down the kitchen sink. Not keen on all that.

We were waiting for our car to be serviced at a main dealer and had a complimentary coffee from their self service coffee machine. I expected it to be ghastly. They usually are from machines. It was wonderful. It was a Nespresso. I watched one of the staff open the top of the machine and fill it with what I thought were individual milk capsules. No, they were Nespresso coffee pods. Just like George advertises. So we bought a Nespresso and the coffee is divine.

As well as the neat and funky coffee maker, included in the price was a Nespresso Aeroccino, a stainless steel cordless jug for heating and frothing milk for Latte and Cappuccino.

I won't go into detail about how it works but for 25p a coffee pod I can now have the perfect cup of coffee at home. There's no mess. The coffee is as good as any I've paid three pounds for in Speciality High Street Coffee Houses.

The coffee pods are only available at the moment from the Nespresso website

I ordered fifty pods and they arrived two days later. There's a fine variety of coffees to choose from. If we are supposed to be staying At Home during The Recession then cheap wine and good coffee makes it a lot more inviting.

But that's daft. We're both old enough to have lived through Recessions in the 70s, 80s, 90s and done our share of staying in and economising. In the 1970s I even stopped ladders in my tights with clear nail polish so I look presentable for work. I've cooked enough Scrag End of Lamb Stews. Made a chicken last a whole week. Roasted- cold cuts-a pie-then boiled the carcass and made soup. Stripped the bones for a chicken curry. Saved sixpences in a Dimple Whiskey Bottle until there was enough in it for a night out. Worn cardigans and thick socks to bed to keep warm and save on heating bills. Survived power cuts, three day weeks, 19% interest, soaring inflation, raging Bank Managers without pausing for breath.

So no saving money here. What for? We must spend it and support local high street shops, buy tickets for local entertainment venues. Do Pub Quizzes and buy a few pints and drink expensive (cheap wine) wine that costs as much for a glass as a Supermarket bottle. Shop online for Nespresso Coffee Pods.

Here's to cheap wine, excellent coffee and no Scrag End of Lamb.

Jamie's Italian

2009-01-07T04:26:00.000-08:00

The streets of Bath were deserted on Sunday evening. We strolled from our hotel in Queen Street, the beautiful Haringtons Hotel, into Milsom Place for a meal at Jamie's Italian.

And we hit a queue! We joined it. This queue was for a table at Jamie's Italian on a freezing cold night. Jamie's Italian can seat over two hundred people - and there was a queue. Could the hype be true?

In seconds a staff member came outside and took names, number of expectant diners and told us it would be ten minutes before there would be a table free in the bar and a further forty minutes before we could expect to be shown to a table. Normally we'd walk away from a situation like this. There are hundreds of restaurants in Bath. But we stayed.

Within ten minutes we were sitting in the bar area with drinks. I was in awe of the place. The decor, ambience and buzz were overwhelming. I felt as if we'd walked off the street onto another planet. One sip of our drinks and on the move again to our table passing cooking areas, hanging hams, cheeses and what seemed to be hundreds of chefs, waiting staff and other diners. Electrifying.

Menus were instant (have a look and be impressed) So were the carafes of wine. The menu was laid out in such a way it was very easy to order. So we started with bread, olives and salted roasted almonds while we chose our main courses, bypassing the Antipasta courses.

Above is my main course of lamb with mint pesto. It was the most delicious lamb I have ever eaten in my whole life. The first picture is of crispy polento chips. Historic. In the picture are chick peas.

Above are just some of the in-house breads.

There are the olives on ice cubes with music bread - more like matzas - and the almonds. Tap water on the table without having to ask. Every mouthful was memorable. The prices are Cheap. Service is Perfect. The decor and lighting is like something from a film set.

Go. Go to Bath. Stay at Haringtons. Walk round the corner to Jamie's and wish you had one in your town. I wish restuaraters in my town paid a visit to Jamie's to see how it can be done and came back to give us the benefit of their experience. It's all so simple really.

And it isn't a hype - it's all true.

Loss

2008-12-02T03:30:00.000-08:00

Six months ago my family lost a precious family member. This loss was unexpected because they hadn't been ill and they were young. Since then we've wept together, held each other, laughed together and are rebuilding our lives. I spoke at the Humanist Celebration of their life. I spoke of happy times, of their funny ways, of our relationship, of his life. I didn't cry throughout. I looked nobody in the eye as I stood on the rostrum. I stayed strong for everyone else. How I managed this I will never know.

The above photo of myself and a new friend was taken last week at the Wake of another young man. He was in his early fifties and left a widow and two young sons. I had never met him. He was an old friend of Morty's and over five hundred people attended the service. I look happy don't I?

That's because I cried all the way through this stranger's service. All my tears, emotions and heart wrenching pain was for the man who died six months ago - my son-in-law. He also left a widow and two young sons; my daughter and my two young grandsons. Releasing my previously controlled emotions in a place full of people I didn't know and will never meet again was cathartic. My sense of relief was dramatic.

So I smiled and circulated at this stranger's wake. I said appropriate words to his widow. I spoke to his two young sons. Perhaps I was one of the few mourners among the many hundreds honouring this young man's life who knew exactly how this family feel. How they will face the future without their husband and father. How his two young sons will look after their Mum - just as my two young grandsons are looking after theirs.

Sid's Back

2008-05-06T03:12:00.000-07:00

Sid's back. And I am in a state of shock. This time he's slithered in through the back door and nestled into my black living room rug. To get him out of my house, and my life, I had to get him up and over the back door step. This is yards and yards away. I got a hooked stick and tried to lift him forwards but he leapt into the air wriggling, squirming, glistening and landed further into the room.

I am yelling in fright and screaming at him to 'Get out!'

Then it got worse. As I lunged at him with my stick his tail fell off - and there were two of them. Sid and his separated tail both wriggling at the same time. Perfectly synchronised. Oh this is a nightmare.

I eventually hooked Sid and got him out through the door and threw him with such force he's halfway up the garden now. But the tail was losing strength. I now know that Sid wrenched his own tail off as a distraction while he hoped to make his escape. It wriggled independently for a while, weakened, then flopped right outside the back door and went still.

I am shaking now. I can hardly type.

Such a lovely day and I was about to sit outside in the May sunshine but I can't. He's there. Him and his tail. Waiting for me.

Not Welcome

2008-05-04T10:07:00.000-07:00

Sid The Slow Worm has obviously found alternative accommodation and I wish him well. Now, Will The Wasp has moved in. He's on my inside window sill. He was there all day yesterday just staring at me. But we got on alright. He doesn't move at all. He was still there in the same position this morning. There's no way this photo shows his size but he is huge. Is this a wasp? Surely it's too early for a wasp

Get him out? I can't. This window doesn't open meaning I'd have to scoop him up into something and take the risk, moving acroos the room to a door or a window that open and give him a chance to survive in the fresh air.

He's still there. I know Will is alive because we make eye contact. If he was dead he'd crumple in a heap and wither.

If he isn't in the same place tomorrow morning I shall worry. That will mean he is still here - in a nook or a cranny in this old cottage.

Is it a Wasp?

Sidney the Slow Worm

2008-04-28T02:56:00.000-07:00

This is Sydney the Slow Worm. Last week he appeared from a hole in the stone wall underneath my back door, got caught in the wrought iron door mat and before my eyes shed his tail enabling him to escape and wriggle back into the hole in the stone, leaving his tail behind him. I was beside myself with fear. I knew he wouldn't hurt me but they do slither, wriggle and do look like snakes. I know they are lizards with ears and eyelids but they are big and I don't want one as a lodger. I know they are a protected species.

My carpenter arrived on Saturday to hang a new back door. I warned him about the Slow Worm and as he took the old frame out the Slow Worm leapt out of the hole so the carpenter threw it over a huge hedge into the next door field.

This morning as I went to open my front door there was Sydney the Slow Worm inside the porch. I heroically lifted him out with a stick and threw him onto the front path. It is the same Slow Worm because half of him is in my back garden and this one has the blunt end where his tail used to be. He found his way home across a field, over gardens and pathways and predators.

I'm proud of his determination. I am talking to him and offering him a hole in my stone wall on a permanent basis on the condition that he doesn't come indoors.

Imagine him twice that length?

The Smell Of Money

2008-04-22T10:24:00.000-07:00

My Dad was a Fishmonger and this is him on the right posing in front of his wet fish shop in a South London market street in the 1970s. This was before plastic bags and after fishmongers could no longer wrap the fresh fish in newspaper as it was a health hazard. Customers would bring their old newspapers into the shop in bundles and one of my Saturday jobs as a schoolgirl in the 60s was to tear the old newspaper sheets in half and pile them up for wrapping the fish sold from the slab.

My hands would be black from the print-ink and when I got on the bus to go home after work I whiffed of fish, my hands were black but I had a ten bob note in my pocket and I'd earned it. I didn't mind what I smelt like or what I looked like.

Once Dad had to pay for clean white paper to wrap the fish in he started to charge for carrier bags. On the original photo the sign hanging between the heads of the the two young blokes says Carrier Bags 3p Each. The other market traders in the street pulled his leg and called him Mean but over thirty years later he wasn't far wrong was he?

I love this photo because Dad's white overall is smeared with fish guts and blood but he would drive home, after his long day beginning in Billingsgate Fish Market at dawn and ending when he put the shutters down at six in the evening, in his ancient Rolls Bentley still wearing this overall and his Fishy Rubber Boots. He often got stopped by the police on his way to Billingsgate at four in the morning as he looked like a very suspicious character dressed like that but he enjoyed telling everyone that he'd paid less for this aged motor than he would have for a brand new Ford.

Sometimes he'd let my brother and I count the day's takings on the kitchen table. Or at least put the notes and cash into appropriate heaps because it was a screwed up mess in a heavy cotton money bag. The money was covered in fish scales and smelt of fish. One evening I flounced telling him I didn't want to touch it as it smelled nasty.

He said,

"You should ever have this much money and complain about how it smells!"

Thanks Dad. For teaching me the work ethic.

Fischer's Baslow Hall

2008-04-09T02:58:00.000-07:00

Morty surprised me for my birthday and booked us into Baslow Hall in Derbshire for one night and dinner in Fischer's, their Michelin Restaurant. It was indeed a surprise because the Chef was one of the competing chefs in The Great British Menu 2008 and I'd seen him cook on the television.

Above are the hot and cold canapes served before dinner. I have eaten Foam now. All modern chefs Do Foam now. The tastes are extremely intense, yet light and delicious.

Above are our deserts, a selection from the dinner menu. Ice creams, souffle, fruit and thin biscuits and chocolate.

Above are the petit fours and lollipops served with divine coffee. A totally wonderful eating experience and my first ever meal sampling Great British Cooking. It was a privilidge. Our room with a canopied bed was utter luxury. Baslow Hall is set in gracious, landscaped gardens and we were made to feel very welcome.

We shall return.

Great British Menu

2008-04-08T09:19:00.000-07:00

Hot and cold Canapes

Lyme Bay Crab and Coconut

Pork. Cheek. Loin. Fillet.

Surprise?

The Excuse

2008-03-09T04:17:00.000-07:00

I wake up suddenly and lie still. Something has disturbed my sleep. It's dark in my bedroom. I distinguish my kidney shaped dressing table, cluttered with teenage girl necessaries. There's that noise again. A persistent plopping, like a tap dripping; Dad will be cross if I haven't turned the tap off on my hand-basin. I peer at my alarm. It's four thirty in the morning. A relief; he left for work at four so no chance of him finding out.

I try to go back to sleep. It's a long journey to work and back every day, leaving my parent's period house in this quiet Surrey village at seven thirty to arrive in London at nine and not getting back until seven thirty in the evening. A bus to the station, a train, then another bus, each stage of my commute tightly synchronised with no room for error; a long day for a fifteen year old probationary apprentice hairdresser, keen to impress her boss; but I can't drift off. The unrelenting plopping is gathering speed and volume.

I light my bedside lamp, place my naked feet on the parquet floor, gaze around my cosy bedroom. The chintz curtains are tightly closed over the leaded-light windows. I hear the click of the heating system as it automatically switches on. I turn my eyes towards the dark green tiled fireplace at the foot of my bed. The persistent plopping is coming from that direction. I pad barefoot to the fireplace and I am unable to scream, too revolted to move; rooted to the spot!

Maggots! Thousands of them! Plump, white maggots marching up and down the grouting of the tiled hearth like a regimental platoon. As the existing troops uniformly wriggle along they are rapidly joined by more foot soldiers, free-falling down the chimney breast, landing with the haunting 'Plop' onto the cold, green tiles, joining the swelling military ranks on the straight white lines as if under orders from a barking Sergeant Major. I am mesmerised but move quickly as the new arrivals, finding no room in the hearth, edge their way over the shiny brass fender to create a splinter group, within seconds finding the patterns on the wooden flooring and a second squad of squirming, writhing maggots occupying their new parade ground.

But the door to freedom is on the other side of the fireplace and its grisly inhabitants. I have to get past the invaders to escape. Choosing the alternative, I leap back to the comparative protection of the bed. Mum's bedroom is next door. Will she hear me screaming? No matter! I shriek and screech. She hears - comes rushing in.

'What are you screaming at for goodness sake?' as she clutches her dressing-gown around herself with one hand and pats her head full of spongy rollers with the other.

'Maggots - millions of them,' ' I'm blubbering.

Her face is white 'What?'

The marching maggots have reached legion proportions. She disappears, returning with a galvanised bucket brimming with steaming water, strong smelling disinfectant and a wooden handled mop; sloshing the contents over the wooden flooring and tiled fireplace. Things worsen as the tidal wave of boiling water sweeps the maggots along the floor, entirely surrounding my bed - proving maggots can swim. I am trapped, sobbing, shaking and already late for work.

'Get out of bed.' she ordered.

Mum may be as horrified as me by the gory sight, but at least she is wearing slippers, at the other side of the fireplace, near the door and a hasty exit.

'I'm not putting my feet on that floor,' as I bury myself in the pillows 'I can feel them crawling all over me! Get me some Wellington boots and dad's big waterproof mackintosh. Otherwise I'm not moving - ever!'

The scene in my bedroom is sheer desolation. Lifeless maggots, fat on dead, decaying bird, are stranded on my pretty hand-woven rug, like grains of cold boiled rice. Some maggots are making feeble efforts to escape to higher ground away from the avalanche of water by slithering into my work-shoes. Others are trapped in the tiled hearth, floating on the surface, joined by naive maggots plopping down the chimney to a certain death by drowning. Mum comes back with the waterproofs and the wellies; I escape the bedlam and collapse in a frenzied heap on the landing floor.

I get to work very late that day. I explain my valid reasons. My boss doesn't believe me. It's the most inventive excuse he's ever heard.

Headless Ostrich

2008-03-07T22:22:00.000-08:00

Ostriches were once farmed purely for their feathers creating much wealth for the Feather Barons who built ornate Feather Palaces. Many of these remain in South Africa. They've been restored and are luxurious tourist accomodation. We visited an Ostrich Farm and found the Ostriches rather funny. They are exactly like Rod Hull's Emu. Cross, bad tempered and get too close to one and it'll have your hat, camera and your face.

Then I felt sorry for them. Place a paper bag on their head and they become motionless. The one above is about to be sat on by a tourist and a photo opportunity. I'd be a cross bird if somebody put a paper bag on my head.

Here the guide has exposed the prize white feathers used for Feather Boas and the Folies Bergere.

These Ostrich are racing. The can run at 60 mph. Considering they can't fly I suppose this is how they survived their predators. We were assured that as soon as they reach the finishing line the jockeys put a paper bag over their heads and they stop dead. I was standing at the finishing line but didn't believe them so my photo is rubbish because I leapt out of the way.

Then we ate Ostrich for lunch and browsed the Ostrich shop. A very useful bird. The eggs are made into lamps, there are feather dusters, feather boas and well crafted Ostrich leather goods. I was very taken with an Ostrich handbag but it was two hundred pounds. I didn't buy anything. They are far more expensive to buy here as very similar bags retail online for several hundred pounds.

I shall buy Ostrich meat though. It is delicious and healthy.

Design Fault? Update

2008-03-03T10:56:00.000-08:00

I loved my last Finepix Digital camera but it broke after two years constant use. Something wrong with the Zoom Feature. Not that I ever Zoomed. I loved it because it didn't have sticky-out bits like lenses. It nestled in my handbag or pocket along with my lipstick. It also had a dock for recharging the whole camera without removing batteries.

Above is the replacement camera bought one month ago. Again, no sticky-out bits like lenses but instead of a camera dock for recharging the whole thing it has a battery charger. I successfully charged the battery as soon as I got the Finepix Z10fd. This meant removing it, charging it and then replacing it. This worked fine. I had a happy month taking pictures and then the battery needed recharging. I removed it, sat it in the recharger, red light went off, charging over, so I put it back into the camera - the wrong way round.

I've replaced many batteries into many technological things the wrong way round, realised this, removed them and replaced them the right way round. Not this one. Jammed. Stuck. Broken nails trying to shift it. Sweating. Perplexed.

I re-read the information leaflets supplied with the camera. There are several slips separate from the main booklet with Cautionary Warnings such as If Battery Replaced The wrong Way Do Not Attempt To Force Removal. I have a sinking feeling.

If Battery Replaced The Wrong Way Round go to your main FujiFilm FinePix Dealer. I go to my High Street dealer. Roger disappears into his workshop with my camera for many minutes. He returns, perplexed.

'Can't understand this' he says 'Usually when a battery's put in the wrong way round it's easy to take it out and do it right'.

Roger 'phones Finepix.

'Oh yes' say Finepix 'This is a common problem. Send it back to us'.

So FujiFilm are selling a product with a known design fault?

Hopefully this will just cost me postage and insurance. Meanwhile I don't have a camera and I miss it. I need to photograph food and shoes.

UpDate:

Finepix replaced my camera with a new one within a week. Well done Fuji. The new camera included updated and clearer illustrated cautions about how to replace the battery. If I'd had these in the first camera I would never had put the battery back the wrong way round.

Suggestive Food

2008-02-22T08:59:00.000-08:00

We spent two nights at The Grand Hotel in Torquay to include Valentine's. Above is my first course. It's Asparagus Spears wrapped in something meaty with Quail Eggs and a creamy Hollondaise. It does look Phallic and it tasted delicious.

Above is my main course. It's Duck Breast with a Pear poached in red wine. Unfortunately, the kitchen was under pressure - Not Enough Cooks - and we'd finished our wine by the time the main courses arrived and I can't remember what that large food object is laid across the top of the breast. That's why I'm glad I took a picture because on reflection it looks Phallic too.

Those umbrellas on the terrace certainly look Phallic.

The Grand is a lovely hotel to stay in for a short break. This was our third visit. The interior has splendid Art Deco features, polite staff and our Slovakian head waiter won't be there next time we go because he's spent the last six years studying with the Open University while working at The Grand. He is accepting his Degree this year and will be taking a post as a Translator so he won't have to pound the restaurant floor for seven hours a night. That's dedication.

More As Promised

2008-02-18T10:47:00.000-08:00

I love these shoes. The heel is an unusual shape and the square toe good. They are comfortable but I totter in them. They are twelve years old.

Mock reptile skin. Ankle straps. High heels. Waving them a tearful Goodbye. Ten years old.

I feel dainty in these cream seude strappy shoes. I don't look delicate as I fell off them several times and had to walk home bare-foot when we couldn't get a taxi. Twelve years old.

This is the Tip Of The Iceberg.

Should I do an eBay or rent a market stall and sell the lot?

I Can't Do This Anymore

2008-02-17T08:20:00.000-08:00

I can't wear heels anymore-ever. There are hundreds of pairs of Tart's Trotters, boot and shoe, in cupboards, chests, drawers under the bed, in black sacks and the bottom of my wardrobe. They are beautiful, worn but never walked in. Bought because I loved the look of them. I've suffered in the past wearing them to get to the taxi, sit at the bar, wobble to the restaurant table, then have an inner argument with myself asking, can I be bothered to totter up the stairs to the toilets and then risk falling down them? Lately I've chosen to retrain my bladder rather than risk it. Lately, every restuarant we've been to has Cobbled Pathways. I cannot walk on Cobbled Pathways in High Heels unless I'm prepared to risk breaking my ankles, knees or hips.

Above are four inch high cork wedged sandals. I loved them so much I bought them in both Black and White. They make me appear to be taller in my head. This is a lie because I can't stand up straight in them, I stoop forwards for balance and look shorter, bent knees. Not a good look.

These are my ankle shoe boots. Lined with scarlet. My legs look so elegant as I sit but not as elegant when I attempt to walk in them.

My next Blog Entries will all be photos of my shoes that I can't wear anymore, and probably never should have worn in the past. This will be a lot of entries.

I shall eventually follow these with the shoes I can wear now, still look good and certainly safer.

Cooled Down

2008-02-09T08:37:00.000-08:00

I'm not so ranty now.

The missing USB arrived in the next day's post. The HP monochrome laser printer (forty pounds - how can this be) installed easily. So cheap, no ink, how does it actually work? Obviously no scanner, copier and no fax but I only use a printer for business letters, whereas up until last year I had to scan and copy quite a few documents.

The fax on the old printer was a nuisance. I never installed this facility but my builders still faxes and every time he sent me one the HP the fax would kick in, the printer went berserk, print the fax and disrupt my phone line. So when I answered the phone I got the Burbling associated with a fax, my Answerphone wouldn't work and that's how I came to lose the printer all together as every time this happened I uninstalled it, then reinstalled it - but it wasn't having it this time.

The DVD Handset? The TV technician came today and it wasn't broken. It needed replacement batteries. But how come? I'd changed them, bloke changed them, daughter changed them and it wouldn't work for any of us. It does now.

I am still ranting about Hillary's Blinds. I ordered my internal shutters in November. Measured up, paid a 50% deposit and as I was about to tell the representitive that I didn't want them fitted until the end of January when the decorating would be finished he said,

'They won't be here until the end of January as they are made in China and shipped across.'

Because this suited me anyway I accepted the time-line. I would/should never have said yes otherwise.

They'd better fit.

Steaming

2008-01-31T22:53:00.000-08:00

Got a new Flossing DVD handset that isn't working with my new Sony DVD player. Done batteries and tried the DVDs in another player. Result - its the handset.

Got a five year old HP all-in-one printer that refuses to re-install. I can't continue driving myself insane trying to get it to work. I am about to Hurl It out of the window.

This is after I'd had to buy a new DVD external drive because the Flossing internal DVD on my tower packed up and without the DVD I couldn't put the Installation Disc in.

Just had a new printer delivered because I am so Flossed Off with my old one and there's no USB enclosed, even though it Has A Check List including the USB with a picture of it on the box!!!!!!.

I've got a box of trailing leads, USBs and other rubbish, one of which should fit, from obselete technology in a cupboard and they've all knotted up like Live Snakes and I've just chucked the box in the air with Twitting Fury.

I am still waiting for Hillary's Blinds to tell me my Pooping Internal Shutters have been made in China and have safely crossed the High Seas so I can have the BumWiping things installed - I ordered them in November!

One week after my new galley kitchen was installed the immersion tank above burst and stained my new plaster ceiling and I had to have a new immersion and the Weeing Ceiling redecorated.

If I didn't already drink alcohol - I'd start now!

I Can See Clearly Now

2008-01-28T08:20:00.000-08:00

H
The work-in-progress on the cottage continues. I have moved on from ghastly pub lighting in here to glass and crystal. The centre light chandelier above is acrylic in an Art-Deco style. I bought three of them for lounge, landing and bedroom six months ago from The White Company online and have finally reached the tarting up stage so the electrician arrived this morning to install all my new fittings. They seem very grand for a small cottage but I adore them. They are bold and blend well with plastered stone walls, black beams and wood.

Above is one of the two new wall lights from John Lewis online. Look at the shadows and patterns cast on the walls. John Lewis is the first online store I visit when I need something new for the home. I bookmark items I like and then carry on searching to compare. Next day free delivery and excellent Customer Service.

So now I need sunglasses indoors. This home has never been so bright.

New carpets fitted on Wednesday.

Scented Soy For Me

2008-01-25T07:23:00.000-08:00

My decorator spent three days washing my plaster walls before he could begin emulsioning them. They were coated with a layer of wax and very black smoke damaged corners under curtains. Yes - from burning perfumed paraffin wax candles. I love my Yankee candles but the damage was extensive. He advised me to burn Soy candles. I am horrified at the toxins in paraffin wax candles. Disconcerted that my expensive re-paint jobby could be ruined with simply burning a candle.

Some Googling and this website in the top ten on the first page appealed to me the most. Sentelle Soy candles Easy to navigate and customer friendly. I liked being able to choose not only the fragrance but the colour of the candle as well.

Within hours of my order being accepted I had a personal email from Sentelle thanking me for my custom and telling me my fragrant Soy Candles would be delivered within twenty four hours - and they were. With a handwritten Thank You note and a small gift.

Beautifully presented and the promise of the fragrance lasting the life of the candle, slow burning, biodegradable, toxin free, non-carcinogenic from a sustainable resource. I took advantage of free delivery for orders over £50.00 then I took a photo of them for you because they are attractive.

Wine Tasting and Lipstick

2008-01-14T02:41:00.000-08:00

The wine tasting in a luxurious South African Vineyard began like this. Clean, shining glasses, the list of wines we were tasting, with spaces to write comments, a dish of dry crackers and a spittoon.

It ended like this.

My Favourite

2008-01-08T22:35:00.000-08:00

After two weeks travelling through South Africa seeing wonderful scenery, flowers, birds, sitting on an ostrich then eating it for lunch, lions, crocodiles, wilderbeasts, meercats, holding an elephant's tusk, penguins, seals, lions, pumas you'd think I could do better than this - a photo of a Dung Beatle - but I love them.

They burrow into the dung and gather a golf ball sized lump then roll it to a hiding place where they lay their eggs inside it. They nick each others dung balls and fight over them. Very entertaining.

Everything But The Head

2007-12-09T23:02:00.000-08:00

I have never eaten so much meat in one sitting. No:29 restaurant and wine bar in Whaley Bridge Derbyshire was perfect. The decor is warm and welcoming and modern and we were given a professional welcome and the waiting staff were very efficient and friendly. A small jazz combo played Norah Jones type music during the evening at the right level, not drowning conversation and adding to the relaxing atmosphere. Above is my first course. Sweetbreads. They were perfectly cooked and brought back many happy memories for me as my late Chef husband used to cook Sweetbreads when we owned our restaurant. December 7th would have been his birthday so eating them seemed like a perfect tribute.

The above dish was described as Lamb Three Ways. Much laughter. There are Lamb's Kidneys, two Lamb Cutlets and a Barnsley Lamb Chop on a Rosti. Again perfectly cooked and flavoursome. These two dishes contained more meat than I eat in a week. I did have to give one of the Cutlets to my bloke. Can you see those Sumo Chips just above with a Rib-Eye Beef Steal balanced on top?

A great evening in a smashing restaurant.

Bad Taste

2007-11-30T00:19:00.000-08:00

My decluttering has produced some forgotten gems, including this cruet set. I've never used it. Perhaps I would if it ground rock salt and black peppercorns. See how the male bottom is perter than the female's?