A Few Days of Summer

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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 UK 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

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

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

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.