Saturday 23 December

Having toured Gran Canaria by car in 2016, we decided just to explore Las Palmas this time, using the hop-on, hop-off bus.  The city itself is pretty horrible: largely a grid pattern of narrow streets of mostly 20th century buildings of no architectural merit, though with the questionable charm of overhanging trees that threaten to lacerate your scalp as you drive past in the open top bus.  The bus stops at a grim shopping centre at the end of the Las Canteras beach, but that’s across the road from the new Alfredo Kraus auditorium.  Interesting building, though the architecture struck me as kind of incoherent.  The terrace of the auditorium offers fine views of the long, sweeping beach, where a lot of people were surfing.

From there we hopped back on, and rode through more modern suburbs, pausing to take in a view of the harbour.  More grisly streets later, we stopped for a walk round the Vegueta, which was altogether more ancient and interesting.  The cathedral is pretty hideous, though the interior is more impressive.  Mass was in progress, and as we left, the congregation, somewhat surreally, was singing some kind of dirge to the tune of The Sounds of Silence.  Outside there was a display of folk dance which we watched for a quarter of an hour.  

The bus ride back to the ship was partly along the waterfront, which was pleasant enough.  Just before we joined the coast road, we were passed by a pack of motorcyclists in Father Christmas suits, revving their engines like mad things at the traffic lights.  Hell’s Santa’s?

Back at the ship I did a spot of laundry, slotting in the afternoon quiz while one lot washed and another dried.  As for the quiz, we lost again.  But we also spent quite a while on the balcony, watching the traffic in the harbour.  It’s quite a treat to be able to sit out in shirtsleeves in late December.  We sailed at sunset for our next overnight island hop to Fuerteventura, a new destination for us both.

Christmas Eve

A healthy swell prevented us from mooring at the planned berth in Puerto del Rosario, so we’re berthed at the container quay, which is slightly more sheltered.   Even tied up, the ship is bouncing about a bit, so we may have some interesting days ahead.  

Fuerteventura was cloaked in a miasma of Sahara sand today, so we didn’t get the long views we might otherwise have done (and I had something akin to hay fever all the time we were out).  The landscape is pretty arid, and quite mountainous.  We took a tour to Ajuy and Betancuria, the first capital of the Canaries.  At Ajuy, the waves were crashing on to the black sand beach, and we were just about blown off our feet.  The cliffs are fascinating, showing the effects of wind and wave erosion.  Betancuria lies in a hollow, some distance inland, so I guess it must have been chosen as capital for its relative shelter from the wind, and perhaps for oasis qualities.  These days it’s wall-to-wall tourist traps, but not unattractive for all that.

The vegetation, such as it is, is pretty scrubby, with palm trees in the hollows, and a good scattering of agaves (from which I learn today, sisal ropes are made).  Aloe Vera is farmed and processed on the island, but fruit and vegetables are so expensive to grow here that most groceries are imported from mainland Spain.  Goats are farmed, and the cheese is supposed to be outstanding.  The only piece I could find in the shops was bigger than my fist, so we’ll have to take their word for it.  

I’d have liked to hear more from the guide about the geology and vegetation of the island, but am at least motivated now to do my own research.  So that brings our Canaries visit to an end.  Not our favourite part of the world, but the climate has a lot going for it, at least on the western islands.

Just one port of call left before we return to Southampton: Lisbon, and we’re looking forward to it.

Friday 21 December 

It was good to see the lights of Funchal airport when I first opened the curtains this morning - and to see lots of stars.  Last time we were here it was dull and damp.  We were up for breakfast quite early by our standards, so watched the sun rise over the Ilhas Desertas as we addressed our bacon sandwiches.  We got the shuttle bus into town, then walked along to the cable car station, visiting the bustling Mercado dos Lavradores on the way.  Wonderful displays of fruit and veg, and of course a thriving fish market.  

The cable car ride offers superb views over the city, the water and the mountains round about, but buying the tickets was a kind of linguistic ping-pong.  I asked in Portuguese for our return tickets, combined with entrance to the botanic gardens, and was answered in English.  I paid with the French Visa card, and then got the instructions in rapid French.  Paciência.  

From the Monte top station there’s a short walk to the next cable car to the botanic gardens.  December is perhaps not the ideal time to visit, but it was very interesting nonetheless.  Like much of the island, the botanic gardens are pretty vertiginous, and the paths are not exactly even.  No broken bones, I’m happy to report, but various over-used joints and under-used muscles are protesting a bit.

Once back to sea level, we enjoyed a walk along the prom, which was a building site when I first visited some years ago.  We stopped for a glass of something at a cafe near the water, meeting by chance a Canadian couple, Jill and Ed, who turn out also to be on the QE.  Hope we connect with them again: friendly, interesting people.

We decided to eat pre-paid, ie back on board, and to repair to the cabin and balcony for a rest.  As Martyn dozed, I was treated to some entertainment by young people learning wind-surfing, dinghy sailing and kayaking beside our ship in the harbour.  Exhausted just from watching.

Saturday 22 December 

Some fantastic views of moon, clouds, cliffs and water as we approached Tenerife.  A big ask for the iPad camera, but I’ll see later if Photoshop can help.

We had pre-booked a small car with an automatic gearbox, but arrived at the rental office to find that they’d assigned us a 4x4 Volvo of similar size and attitude to my Ateca.  CICAR have a new office next to their car park, and we were served by the same helpful booking clerk as two years ago.

Altogether a far better experience than last time.  For a start, the weather has been sunny, warm and calm all day, and we were able to get up into the Teide National Park this time.  Beautiful drive, with terrific views across to Gran Canaria, La Palma, La Gomera and El Hierro.  Above the tree line, the landscape is like nothing I’ve seen before.  Arid, empty scenery with sweeps of granular volcanic rock everywhere, and some astonishing multi-coloured strata.  We paused by the Garcia rocks at the foot of the cone of Mt Teide, but opted out of the ride to the top in the cable car.  I’m doing a bit better at altitude these days, but 3710m would be asking just a bit too much.

We lunched on a Lidl pastry apiece, tradition oblige, but this time by the water in Puerto Santiago, for which we cared little, then wound our way along to Puerto de la Cruz, where Martyn has stayed some decades ago.  His hotel was still there, but much of the surrounding countryside, once virgin forest and scrub, has been developed.

It has been a day of getting lost.  Although we found our way out of the port easily this time, we took a wrong turning for Puerto de la Cruz, and found ourselves on quite the wrong side of the tracks - unmade roads, overgrown, undeveloped lotissements and some pretty dilapidated housing - and had to retrace our steps.  Since we had some surplus fuel, we’d hoped to explore the part of the island to the north-east of Sta Cruz, but again got last.  We’ve a lot of time for CICAR, but not for their cartographer.  We even struggled to find the entrance to the port, unlike last time, but we did at least negotiate the hairpin bend into the CICAR car park at the first attempt, unlike last time.  I doubt if we’ll visit Tenerife again, but if so, perhaps it’ll be third time lucky.

From what we’ve seen of the resorts, wild horses wouldn’t drag us there.  But the forests and views from altitude, and the sheer magnificence of the National Park make it well worth a visit.  The inland towns also have their charm, even as seen from the main roads.  So we don’t write it off.

17 December

Off at a decent hour: 10:30-ish, and the M25, though busy, kept moving at a decent clip.  We opted for the A3 route to Portsmouth and Southampton, and were there very early, so struck out into the New Forest for our picnic lunch before heading back to the docks.

Boarding was as ever a thoroughly civilised experience: we were guided to where the porters were ready to collect our bags, then motored on to where we’d to hand the car over.  From the car to the cabin took maybe 20 minutes, and it wasn’t long before our bags arrived.  We’re in the same cabin as we used back in 2016, so though we get a bit more movement than in our midships cabin last time, we have less traffic past our door, and next to no mechanical noise.

We’re among friends: the captain is once again Inger Thorhauge, who was in charge last time we did the Christmas cruise.  On the way down for supper, Martyn mused whether we might again bump into a couple we met in the Midships bar two years ago.  They weren’t there, but as we went through the photo gallery, there they were: Pamela and David, so we stopped and had a good catch-up.

Our table is perhaps the least attractively placed of those we’ve had on our cruises so far, but our companions at the next table are a likeable couple from Essex.  Dinner was excellent as usual, and the Picpoul is still in the wine list.

Though the drive to Southampton was pretty brisk, a lot of it was into a low sun reflected off a wet road surface, so I was pretty tired, and have opted out of this evening’s show.  Early night with a good book, methinks.

Tuesday 18 December

Less mechanical noise, maybe, but once the wind and swell got up to strength, the old tub started heaving about, with much creaking, crashing and banging.  Just as well we’re good sailors, though we each felt a bit queasy from time to time, and sleep was pretty well impossible.  As we returned to our cabin after (a rather thinly attended) breakfast, the captain came on to the PA to say that we’re sailing into a 60kt wind, but that the movement of the ship has rather to do with the 4-5 metre swell.  She tells us that improvement is expected in the evening, so we might catch up on lost sleep tonight.  Meanwhile, I’ve finished one book, and am glad I have a couple more lined up.

Unfortunately, every time the ship heaved, part of the floor plating popped noisily up, then noisily back down again.  As my bed was resting on said plating, I got sporadic jolts through the night, which meant that I got very little sleep.  When the same phenomenon showed up on night 2, I had had enough, and rang the purser’s office.  A dame turned up pretty quickly, and said she’d show me a cabin where we’d get better sleep.  It turned out to be an inside cabin, so I rejected it.  A more senior person then appeared, took a video of our oscillating floor plating, and took us to a balcony cabin that we could use for the night.

Wednesday 19 December

The cabin was right at the blunt end of the ship, so, as we’d already changed for the night, we had to pad along the corridors in dressing gowns and slippers, and repeat the process in reverse next morning.  The cabin was a bit bigger than our first one, and we slept reasonably well.

This morning we learned that cabin 2 is booked from an intermediate port, so after breakfast we were on the move once again.  

Breakfast was kedgeree, complete with curry sauce.  (Memo to self: smaller portion next time, and no curry sauce.)  Cabin 3 is the same, smaller, size as cabin 1, but we can cope.  It’s two decks down from where we started, and even closer than before to the sharp end.  The sea remains quite rough, so we’re being thrown about a bit, and get the occasional crash of a big wave under the bows.  But I’m in no danger of losing my kedgeree - and the floor all moves in one piece.

Another day of reading, eating, sleeping, a couple of quizzes and an excellent, if loud, show of Hollywood song and dance in the evening.  We spent a bit of time up in the bar above the bridge, watching the horizon rising and falling ahead of the bows.  Occasionally quite dramatic!

Thursday 20. December 

The sea was still a bit lively overnight, but since our cabin is rather more solid that the last two, we slept well: I first checked the time at 06:45-ish.  By lunch time we’d walked the length of the ship a couple of times, inside and out, done a quiz and attended an informative lecture on Picasso.  The weather has improved a lot, so there were quite a few people sitting out on deck this morning, and even one hardy type in the swimming pool.

Fish and chips in the pub, then a nice little piano recital of pieces by Haydn, Schumann, Debussy and Albeniz, very well attended.  I don’t know how many pianos there are on board: certainly four in areas accessible to us lesser mortals in steerage and there is at least one suite with a graaand piaaano in it.  The one we heard this afternoon in the Queen’s Room could do with a visit from the tuner/fettler: not clear whether they have one on board.  Time will tell.

Early morning rituals

Click here for the annual ramblings

One of mine, if I happen to be up and about, is to get any necessary Sainsbury’s shopping over and done with before 08:00, at which hour it is almost bearable.  That I did today: the shopping was done and the tank was full by just after the hour.  Fewer dithery shoppers, lots of parking space and no queues for checkout.  There were rather a lot of pickers & packers around, though, and they were making no effort to get out of the way of ordinary customers.

It was a chilly morning, so I was surprised to see one chap out doing his shopping in shorts.  Must have been a postman.  Surprising also to see a couple of women in their night clothes out walking their dogs.  One fluffy pink dressing gown, one short jacket over baby blue pyjamas.  (Said he, who is usually in dressing gown and slippers when he puts the bins out...)

L'administraaation française

Another tax demand from Carcassonne a couple of weeks ago for property tax and TV licence fee for 2018. As on numerous past occasions, I replied that I no longer own property in France, and haven't since 2017.  Well, following my increasingly snotty response, I think I now have a full pack of letters saying that I have been accordé un dégrèvement in relation to all three taxes.  Given that I was liable to none of the taxes in the first place, to say that I've been 'granted a rebate/relief' is a bit rich.  Still, all's well that ends well, though I'm down by the cost of a couple of stamps - and wait to see whether I'm billed again in 2019.

On the subject of postage, we went and bought the stamps for this year's Christmas cards yesterday.  The standard card and envelope weighed in at 11g (which prompted a wry grin from the wonderful Janet at the Post Office), so unfortunately we've missed the first tariff weight step by a measly gram.  I'd have sworn I used the same card as last year.  I don't suppose we'll starve in consequence, but correspondents in continental Europe and the colonies may find their cards printed on Izal toilet paper next year.  As usual, I miscounted, and have to get a few more stamps, so it'll be Monday before the cards are on their way.

Yesterday was fine after a couple of thoroughly dreich days hereabouts, so we took a longer drive to do the messages.  The nicest Fortnums hereabouts is a hop and a skip from my usual hobby venue, so we motored hence on the main road and back down the lanes.  The autumn colours have largely gone now, the good news being that, with fewer leaves on the trees, the views are more open.  At Fortnums, I chuckled to see so many Jags, 4x4 Benzes, Volvos and the like, remembering the opposition from the posh neighbours to the building of such a down-market shop.  (It is true, of course, that the stock policy is somewhat fancier there than most of their shops.)  Martyn asked 'Where is [name of posh area mentioned]?  So we drove through it on the way to join the lanes back home.  Not so much the gin & Jag belt, more the Pimms & Porsche zone.  There are some spectacularly extravagant properties up there, with places little bigger than ours commanding fully three times the price.  Top marks to those who can afford such places (except the footballers, of course), but one feels moved to ponder at whose expense their fortunes were made.

Today it's back to dreich with a vengeance, so it was comfort food for lunch.  Inspired by the Grand Café in Limoux, we occasionally do a pizza dite norvégienne.  Once the machine-made part-wholemeal base is done, heat the pizza stone to a high temperature.  Hand stretch the dough and finally roll to shape on greaseproof paper, then raise for 20 minutes at 40°C.  Sparing coating of crème fraîche, topping of fresh and smoked salmon and big prawns (typically at least double the Grand Café portions), capers, mozzarella, pepper and a drizzle of olive oil.  Slide the pizza, paper and all, on to the preheated stone, and bake at at least 230°C for 10 minutes.  Slide it off the stone and the paper on to a a big wooden board.  Serve with oregano and spicy oil.  Effective only as part of a calorie-controlled diet, I need scarcely add....

Rites of Autumn

Click here for the annual ramblings

The Christmas cards are designed, formatted, printed and for the most part signed and enveloped.  Martyn's recent move into painting means that instead of my usual ego trip of using paintings I've done during the year, we now have a joint effort.  (Another of his paintings is in the annual ramblings, qv supra.)  I print two cards per sheet of A4, alternating the front and back images, so we now have an even share of the front page.

We are very much into the soup season: we've finished the broth we made some time ago, and today finished off Martyn's excellent caldo verde.  Anyone heard of buttonhole kale?  Nous non plus.  That's what we used, and my contribution to the soup making was to strip the leaves off and discard the tough stems, and set about the leaves with the hachoir.  The purple of the leaves made for a slightly grey soup (caldo cinzento?), but the flavour was none the worse of it and, as usual, better at the second time of asking.  We put last weekend's chicken carcass to stock for use mid-week with the leftover chicken, sliced mushrooms, chives from the garden and some small pasta for a suitably comforting lunchtime soup.  I see we have some red lentils in the store cupboard, so shall haul out Ma's manuscript recipe some time in the week.

Today is mild, so I've spent a moment in the garden hauling the frosted beans and the antirrhinums from their respective sinks, and planting daffodil bulbs, the last of the polyanthus and the first half of the pansies that we've been bringing on from plugs.  The remaining bulbs and pansies will go in the sink that we can see from the kitchen window.  The sedums were starting to look pretty ugly, so they are now chopped down.  While there are still flowers on the rudbeckias, I'm not in a hurry to dig them out, so contented myself with some dead-heading.  Same goes for the roses: I've hacked back what I can to reduce the risk of wind rock, but can't bring myself to cut off flower buds, even though they may not come to much.  I am less enthusiastic about sweeping up leaves, however.  Our neighbours' oaks and silver birches are a bloody nuisance, and since we have just had a heavy shower I shall defer that task yet again.

I see that the EU27 have signed off the UK-EU divorce settlement.  The latest freshly-resigned Secretary of State for Exiting the European Union thinks the exit deal leaves the UK worse off than remaining in the EU.  I've heard it said, not that I could personally express a view of course, 'Well, what did you §%$ing expect?'.

Annual ramblings, 2018

Compliments of the season! 

The world of politics is certainly not one I'd care to inhabit these days.  The inexorable rise of populism worldwide is an ugly development, and you start to wonder when the world will come to its senses.  It may not.  I'm glad in some ways to be old.  We have much to be grateful for: we are well, by and large.  You could say, as of a somewhat high-mileage, dented and smoky used car, reasonable condition for age.

CAB Quiz winnings

Martyn's model railway goes from amazing to spectacular: he has put up a video on YouTube.  My hobbies are more modest: the one I get expenses for becomes more and more frustrating.  Since I represent the local branch of the Hobby at the local Citizens' Advice charity, we once again entered a team in their quiz in the spring, and our Rough Justice team won!

I have joined a U3A German conversation group, and am very slowly improving my lamentably poor vocabulary.  (It didn't help that I hated the German teacher we had for the first two years - nor that I started it at the hormonally challenging age of 14).  Talking of U3A, we joined the bird watching group at Rye harbour a few weeks back, and, with the help of a guide, saw all sorts of species, such as a spoonbill, little egrets and sundry waders - and a charm of goldfinches.

During one of our trips, we got a local painter/decorator in to do the bedrooms and the garage doors, which he had the pleasure of doing on some of the hottest days of the year, poor chap.  He did an excellent job, so we no longer have to avert our eyes from the previous administration's dismal choice of colours in the front bedroom, and our rather too bright choice of blue in the back. 

Garden

We had the landscapers in this autumn to scrape off the mossy grass at the front and side of the house and hoik out the badly mutilated cherry tree.  We got them to replace most of the plants with membrane, green slate chips and some new shrubs.  The box hedge now continues from the side of the house (where we'd replaced a silly little fence with a mix of our own box cuttings and plants bought at half price from Fortnums) right round to the front drive, so the garden will in due course look a lot tidier.  And of course we no longer have to cut quite so much grass.  While the landscapers were at it, we got them to dig up a diseased (and in any case, thoroughly boring) viburnum out the back, and replace it with an acer in some decent soil.  We've had little success with acers in the past, presumably because of our awful soil, so keep fingers crossed.

We grew charlotte potatoes again, and they were delicious as ever.  We had better results from the dwarf French beans this year, despite the fact that the seeds were from a packet that has been open for years.  Having attempted leeks, runner beans and courgettes in the raised bed last year, we decided this year to restrict it largely to herbs, which have done extremely well - thanks probably to our having heaved in bags of muck and decent topsoil in the spring.  More of the above in the spring, and I have a new packet of bean seed in waiting.  We have joined a nearby allotment association (though we stop short of taking an allotment), so get composts etc at pretty good prices.  Although we've bought quite a lot of bedding plants as plugs and brought them on, we grew rudbeckias from seed, and they are still flowering well after the first frosts.  The cold frames are full of cuttings, and I just hope they'll survive the winter.  Some of our perennials are now very leggy, so it's time we re-stocked.  A modest triumph too: I harvested seed from a cyclamen that Derry gave us, and managed to grow two little plants, both of which are now in flower.

Arrivals

Pam and Geoff were here briefly in June en route to and from an orgy of opera in Riga (Geoff's 80th birthday present from his devoted public).  We have enjoyed their generous hospitality so many times in Berne and Dunoon, so it was good to reciprocate modestly for a change.  Similarly, we had the pleasure of a visit from Martin and Patricia as they headed for Dover after visits to family and friends in England.  It was good to be able to entertain them, having been welcomed to their home in Mèze so many times when we had a base in France. 

Departures

Chur in the distance, from the Weisshorn above Arosa

We've been out and about a lot this year.  Although we always long to get away during the dark, cold early months, we endured them at home this year, rewarded by watching the garden return to life and colour.  In June it was off the the Graubünden for a week, staying in Chur, and bopping around on public transport as we love to do in Switzerland.  For the first time for me, we rode the Bernina line to Tirano and back, joined by Pam and Geoff, who joined us in Chur, heroically travelling from Berne and then back the same night.

Then in July, we had planned a cruise to the Baltic, but chickened out because of UK-Russia tensions, and the consequent closure of the St Petersburg consulate.  So it was off to the Mediterranean on the Queen Victoria, visiting Cadiz, Monaco, the Cinque Terre, Civitavecchia, Propriano and Gibraltar.  Quite a good exercise in finding places we'd like to visit for longer, and a few that we won't trouble again.  We were again very fortunate with our neighbours at dinner, a sparky couple, Janet and John, from Wakefield.  We quite often had a nightcap with them as we watched the sunset from the lido deck, and they joined us for the evening pub quizzes, a couple of which we won.

Martyn treated me to a birthday present of a trip to Edinburgh in September, travelling by train, and staying in a converted school in Broughton.  The highlights of the trip were a visit to the Britannia at Leith, and a trip to Broughty Ferry for lunch with school friends Jackie and Wendy, and a visit to Broughty Castle: my first, since it has only opened as a museum in recent years.  Weather?  Dreich.

Martyn and Annie: Lunch at the Majestic

In October - for Martyn's birthday - we went to Porto for a long weekend, joined by Annie.  We stayed again in the beautiful flat overlooking the Atlantic rollers in Foz do Douro.  The weather was a shade less co-operative than last time we were there, but certainly made for a dramatic view from the living room.  We did a few of the touristy things one does in Porto, but this time took a ferry across the Douro from Ribeira at Gaia, and legged it up the hill to Taylor's cellars, where we took the tour and tasting.  Another visit was to the Serralves park, where there were a few Anish Kapoor pieces on display.  Lunch at the Majestic is a must if you're in Porto, but perhaps the second bottle of Alvarinho was a mistake.  Siestas all round.  We were less impressed by the roast chestnuts we got from a chap at the roadside near the flat: Annie reckons the summer drought did them no favours.

Atlantic sunset, Foz do Douro

Wheels

Our resident vehicles serve us well, though Martyn's rarely makes 1000 miles between MoTs.  Having dug my heels in (friends will recall that, on a scale of 1-10 for stubbornness, I score 15), I finally got some defective bright work on the Ateca fixed, if not under warranty, then at least at the cost of the manufacturer and the dealership.  Said dealership provided me with courtesy cars a couple of times during the year: one was a Skoda Citigo, which was pretty lively and manoeuvrable (and I managed to deal with the extra pedal and that funny lever on the floor).  The other was a Fabia with a proper DSG gearbox, and it was impressive.  But I get less and less keen on driving, and can foresee the day when I develop a relationship with a local taxi firm, and with grocers who deliver.

Arts

Blue tit: watercolour by Martyn

Martyn has joined our little Thursday morning art group.  Miss having retired, we continue to meet at the same venue, and it seems to be working well enough.  Martyn, who hadn't wielded a brush for decades, is turning out some highly competent pieces, as witness the Christmas card, if you get one!  the group again put up a show at, and in aid of, the Bridges charity in Edenbridge.  One of my little sketches brought them £15.

We took a trip to London on Martyn's birthday to see 42nd Street: fantastic!  Earlier in the year we went to a performance of Historia Theatre Company's docudrama Dear Chocolate Soldier, a moving account of the suffering of a young bombardier in the trenches, based on his correspondence with a child who had sent chocolate to the forces, and with her parents. 

Food and Drink

Our standard entertaining menu this year has been amuse-bouche of smoked salmon and boursin palmiers, insalata tricolore (tomatoes, sliced mozzarella, prosciutto, salad and basil), followed by grilled Aberdeen Angus fillets (from 'Fortnums', of course) with Martyn's home-made chips and roast veggies.  Our favourite white wine Picpoul de Pinet used in these parts to be the preserve of Waitrose.  But it now appears regularly at Sainsburys, Lidl and even in the One-Stop in the village.  On board the floating care home, of course, we ate well and somewhat too copiously.  One interesting starter was a little breaded patty of pork cheeks.  Delicious.  And the Cunard wine list too now features Picpoul de Pinet, priced at the lower end of their eye-watering wine list.

We hope that 2019 will treat you kindly, though I have to admit to having never felt quite so pessimistic.  But however dreadful the political background, strong and loving friendships keep us going, eh?

Best wishes from us both

Martyn and David

Art crowd party

Blue tit: Copyright Martyn Bishop 2018

Since our venue is about to turn into a building site for a number of weeks, we had our last meeting of the year today, and debriefed a project on a theme suggested by the ever-inventive Joan, Light as a Feather.  Miss, though officially retired from her role as teacher, kindly presided, offering her usual constructive criticism.  Given the prodigious output of other members of the group, I hardly dare admit that we each did a single piece.  I offered a water-colour pencil sketch of some fruit scones, Martyn's version of which more than conforms to the theme!  He had done a watercolour picture of a blue tit, his first essay in the genre for decades: it was very well received - quite right!

The meeting soon degenerated into drinks and nibbles - our earliest Christmas party of all time - but not before I'd set our next project: Heritage.  Some of the group wanted to swot up on perspective, but rather than go too prescriptive and limiting, we decided in the car on the way there that we'd set a more nebulous title - if only to allow retired architect Tony to avoid having to draw more buildings.  I put up a handful of paintings, etchings and the like from our collection to prime the pump, as it were, largely of buildings.  One, a painting of a little house called Holly Cottage, provoked quite a reaction.  The husband of one of the group turns out to have lived there at one time, and she recognised it instantly.  (Not one of mine, but a prize-winning oil by one Fred Parker, who, along with his wife Joan - and my Ma - used to exhibit each year in the Maidstone Art Society show.)

We also got back the stuff we'd hung at the Bridges show in October.  Again, one of mine had sold: a view from the train on the way down to Lauterbrunnen.  Not a bad £15-worth, said he immodestly, and to the benefit of the Bridges charity.

All Saints already

Nothing too exciting to report.  We're both still coughing, and lack energy for more than day to day pursuits.  Still, with Celia and Andy, we joined a U3A bird watching group visit last Friday to the Rye harbour nature reserve.  It was grey, cold and occasionally damp, none of which helped those of the arthritic persausion.  Still, we got to see lots of birds I hadn't registered before: a spoonbill, little grebes, red- and greenshanks, golden plovers and even some gannets fishing offshore.  Closer to hand were flocks of linnets and goldfinches, dunlins, wigeons and many others.  We each dob up a fiver for the guide, and it was money well spent.  And lunch afterwards at the Bill the Conk was decent enough.

I mentioned the other day that I'd had an almost instant appointment with the doctor.  I'd to wait a little longer to see the dentist to discuss repairs to a broken filling.  Well, I saw him on Tuesday, and we agreed the approach to adopt.  Rather than delay him further - he was running late as usual - I agreed to fix another appointment for the work.  Out at reception, I was offered a slot the following day.  Not bad, eh?  Mind you, I'm paying a fat monthly insurance premium, so expect correspondingly prompt service.  Anyway, I now have a reasonably competent set of fangs for someone of my advanced years.

I suppose our reputation as grumpy old gits goes ahead of us.  Or maybe parents don't want their kids knocking on the door of two elderly ... chaps like us.  Whatever, we were not accosted last night by trick or treaters, which is just as well, since we hadn't made provision.

Art group gathering this morning, and I have made a start on a piece inspired by a photograph taken some time ago by a friend.  Watch  this space.  Martin did a seascape from a photo taken on our visit last year to Saltburn.  It's good to find yet another shared interest.

A good night out

Friday being Martyn’s birthday, we had barbecued steak for lunch, a snooze and then a night at the theatre: 42nd Street at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.  Lots of familiar songs, of course, but also fantastic dances and lavish sets.  Thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

We contented ourselves with some gentle gardening and housework over the weekend.  Gentle because we are both still in the throes of man flu, coughing and sneezing rather extravagantly.  One gets fed up of it after six or seven weeks.  Still, we got to sit out the garden work this morning.  Neighbouring farmer David comes round once a year to trim our hedges, and was here today to do his usual excellent job at 40% of the figure his competitors charge.

A run of fine days lately, so we’ve potted up some containers with bulbs and polyanthus, brought on from plug plants.  That allowed me to clear out one of the cold frames, but it is now full again with penstemon and cistus cuttings, potted up individually this afternoon.  We ought with luck to be able to replace some of the leggy old parent plants once they have flowered in the spring.  One of my German conversation group friends came round this afternoon to return part 2 of the lawnmower we’d lent her, so she went off with a few cuttings: she is currently populating a new garden, and likes penstemons, ce qui tombe bien.

Today is our twelfth wedding anniversary.  No big plans, since we’re still coughing and sneezing, and in any case have had more than our fair share of gallivanting lately: we’ll barbecue some sirloins again for supper, and just enjoy each other’s company.

Home

Good old João was there to collect us on Tuesday at 7:00 as promised, and drove us to the airport in plenty of time for our flight home.  The airport was remarkably busy, but I guess a lot of business people would be zooming off to morning meetings at that hour.  The non-Schengen end of the airport was much quieter, so we could sit and drink our tea in comfortable chairs in the Costa near the gate.  Unlike our flight out, the return flight was free of drama, thank goodness.  But I was wrong about the TAP seats.  We travelled out in row 7, and back in row 20, and at some point behind row 7, the cabin changes from business/cattle to cattle only, with a seat pitch that makes EasyJet seem super-generous.  Back at Gatwick, it was a return to the mediocrity that is the hallmark of the British infrastructure. Two of the moving walkways were out of action, which is bad news for those of an arthritic persuasion.  Still, the passport queue was very short, and we were out reasonably quickly.

The drive home was fine, with a pause in Edenbridge to shop for lunch and supper.  These days we’ve learned to avoid East Grinstead, which is a terrible bottleneck.  The road via Lingfield and Hever is marginally longer, but less prone to slow queues.

As soon as we got home I rang to ask for an appointment to see the doctor, and got one for 3:15 the same day!  We are unusually lucky with our local practice: Martyn had the same experience last time he went.  Anyway, after listening to the bellows, the doctor saw no reason to investigate further.  It must just have been another cold following the last one, since the symptoms are progressing normally now.

Annie returned home yesterday, managing to catch an earlier train than the one she was booked on, and with no need to change en route.  It was delayed by some sort of incident up the line, but she was still home sooner than expected.

So it’s back to the usual routines of shopping, laundry, gardening and cooking.  We’ve done a fair bit of gallivanting this year, so a couple of restful months are in order before our next jaunt.

Plans? What plans?

Just as well we decided against the trip to Coimbra that I had been toying with as an excursion for yesterday.  The storms have caused much devastation, and an emergency has been declared.  The same weather system has flooded Lagrasse again, and caused some 13 deaths in the region.  The water didn’t reach the height it did in 1999, so I’m hoping the chap who bought my house has dry feet.

Here, the weather was breezy and showery, and we contented ourselves with views of the river from the train to Campanhã, from the funicular and the Ponte Luiz I, and from a restaurant on the water at Ribeira.  It being called Chez Lapin, I had a rabbit dish for the first time in decades, and the others had chicken.  Not bad, vast portions, and not deadly expensive.

On the bus back home, we spotted a hot chestnut stand at the roadside, just one stop on from our usual one, so treated ourselves to a poke thereof.  A first for Martyn and me, and we weren’t wildly impressed, but Annie reckoned the dry weather may not have helped them.  Still, Annie prepared a tasty pasta supper for us later, so all in all we were pretty well nourished.

My coughs and sniffles gave me a rather trying evening, and a worse night, so I dipped out of today’s tourism, and settled for some minor housework instead.  Annie and Martyn set off sharpish for town this morning, and were thwarted by crowds and unhelpful schedules at the Lello bookshop and the Palácio da Bolsa respectively, so visited neither, and were already back at the flat - and changed into dry clothes - by the time I returned from the recycling bin and the shop.  My suggestion of lunch at the Pizza Hut across the road turned into a learning experience: I learned to avoid it in future.  The good news is that there is some of Annie’s delicious pasta sauce left for supper.

Fresh air, exercise, culture and good living

We took a bus this morning to the Serralves park and museum.  We didn’t hang around for long indoors, since the weather was fine, but did look quickly round an exhibition of Mapplethorpe photographs.  Incredibly skilled photographer, but his predilection for photographing erections of the black persuasion and fists up people’s bums rather detracted from the beauty of, for example, his photographs of flowers.  (One guess as to what he died of at 43.). The gardens are superb, and currently include a few pieces by Anish Kapoor, equally startling sometimes, but much less distasteful than Mapplethorpe’s stuff.  Unfortunately, the rose garden has been completely cleared, and there is nothing between the box hedges other than plastic sheeting.  We took a quick look at the house, which is a fine Art Deco pile, but rather under-exploited, we thought.  Annie and I went inside the Anish Kapoor ‘Descent into Limbo’ piece.  It is a cubic building, built over a spherical 3.3 metre diameter void, with a 1.5 metre opening at the top, level with the floor.  The inside is painted in a very dark blue pigment to which Kapoor has bought the rights. We had to flash ID and sign lengthy disclaimers before we went in, which was partly to bolster Kapoor’s wish to create an air of menace and suspense.  Well, it was impressive in its way, partly thanks to a very knowledgeable guide.  The exhibition ends in January, and the sculptures will be demolished.  Seems kinda wasteful, innit?

I wonder whether the museum trustees and the public transport system have had a falling out.  The only bus stops remotely near the museum are 5-10 minutes’ walk away, and the only route serving it doesn’t serve the centre of town.  The more exercise, the merrier, I suppose, but the old knees are protesting a bit.  We took a lengthy bus ride down to the Bolhão terminus, and legged it thence to the wonderful Majestic Café for lunch.  I had emailed them in my last worst Portuguese to ask to book a table, but received no answer.  The charming maître d’ Mr Moreira soon had us seated nevertheless, and we enjoyed our steak/magrets, Alvarinho and pasteis de nata in the exuberant Belle Époque surroundings of the café.

Unsurprisingly, Annie and Martyn have retired for siestas while I sit and scribble, looking out on the ever-changing view of the Atlantic breaking on the rocks across the road.  We love it here.

Porto again: yippee!

Annie joined us at Forges-l’Evêque on Wednesday night, and shared probably our last steak barbecue of the year.  It has been a remarkable month, but the evenings have started to get quite chilly.

Early if not bright on Thursday we set off for ordeal by Gatwick to catch what turned into a rather sportif flight to Porto.  The good news is that the new Recaro seats in TAP’s A319s provide vastly more leg room than we had four years ago.  The less good news was that the climb out of Gatwick had us all wondering if our wills were up to date.  The catering was pretty minimal, but the glass of white wine was more than welcome in the circumstances.  The approach was scarcely less stirring, so it was a comfort to find our landlord João waiting for us at the airport.  Porto airport is as bearable as Gatwick is ghastly, and João was soon sweeping us comfortably to our apartment.

We were here three years ago, and it is as welcoming as ever.  Fabulous ocean views (and some lively seas to enhance them), spotlessly clean and well equipped.  Ana and João took time to show us round again, and to recommend places to see and eat.  We had an apéro at a bar right down on the beach (one of the recommendations) and a modest stroll to get some fresh sea air into the tubes.  There is a handy supermarket just round the corner, so we ate in on pretty tolerable pizzas, salad and rather better than tolerable wines of the Alentejo.

Today we had a pretty leisurely start, and bussed in to the centre.  First stop was the spectacular São Bento railway station, whence we strolled down to the Palácio da Bolsa, arriving just after several coach loads of cruise ship tourists.  Change, therefore, of plan.  We strolled down to Ribeira, and hopped on the ferry to Gaia.  There we sweated up the hill to Taylor’s, and took a tour of the cellar and a modest tasting of their wines.  We liked the Chip Dry (and have already done some damage to a bottle thereof).

Thence down to the now mercifully pedestrianised waterfront for a decent and inexpensive lunch (but I think I prefer canned sardines to grilled ditto), and some virtuoso people watching.  We took the cable car up to the end of the Luis I bridge, and then ambled gently home on two trams and a bus.  We were reminded of the natural herbage of the place: pampas grass wherever it can be left to grow, and morning glory everywhere else.

Another quiet evening in, with excellent bread for a local bakery, and melon, cheese and charcuterie from the little supermarket just up the hill.  In the process, we found bus stops from which we can reach some of our targets for the next few days.

I’ll post a few photos when I can work out again how to.....

Modern times

The car insurance renewal notice came in yesterday, announcing a hike of 10%.  Today’s post brought the boiler maintenance renewal, up 20%, and the water bill, no less than 64% up on the last one.  Given the paltry statutory revisions of our pensions, nephews, nieces and a few charities had better start revising their expectations.

Still, today’s good news is that the Macmillan coffee morning brought in £188 and 1€ (which I bought for £1).  Our lovely village Post Office happily took the cash to pay into our joint account at the teetering TSB, and the cheque and gift aid form are ready to go in the post in the morning.  There are some generous people around, eh?

Home stuff

Can’t remember the last time I blew up a balloon.  Well, I have done four this evening in preparation for tomorrow’s coffee morning in aid of Macmillan Cancer Care, and shall put them out in the morning together with the bunting that comes with the Macmillan pack.  We have been baking like mad for the past week, so hope our efforts will be appreciated - and lucrative.  At least one of our guests tomorrow has benefited from Macmillan’s efforts.

Meanwhile, the landscapers have been busy: the front and side garden is suddenly much bigger than we thought, and we have the beginnings of a box hedge that continues round the perimeter from where I started it some years ago.  It may even need clipping in my lifetime.

Though Miss has officially retired, the art group has decided to continue to meet on Thursday mornings, and we did so this morning.  Martyn has joined our happy band, and was not too reluctantly cajoled into becoming our treasurer.  It helps to have a retired accounting lecturer on the strength, eh?

Oh, I forgot to mention something when I scribbled about our last outing to Birling gap and Beachy Head.  Most days here at Forges-l’Evêque we hear a Spitfire flying over at intervals.  Converted late in the war into a two-seat trainer, and now powered by a Rolls-Royce Merlin salvaged from a Mosquito, it evidently belongs to some joker who offers flights out of Biggin Hill at close on £3000 a pop.  Anyway, when we were at Birling Gap, there it was, swooping back and forth along the white cliffs.  Good fun, no doubt.

Couple of days at the hobby, lately, plus the AGM of the local hobby club.  Non-members like me were also invited, attracted by a visit to the Sikh temple in Gravesend.  Fascinating.  Which is more than can be said of the ensuing AGM, alas.

Disgustedville

Home again, after a longish journey, and I wasn’t dissuaded from taking a taxi home!  Our train left Edinburgh about 12 minutes late, and matters were not helped by a van gatecrashing a level crossing gate.  But the time we thus lost was largely made up by quick connexions at St Pancras and London Bridge.  I still feel pretty tired after eight hours: one bus, three trains and a taxi.  Thank goodness we travel light!

Our travelling companions were a delight: a woman d’un certain age, her daughter, the latter’s sweet, docile lurcher and a young IT specialist.  The train itself, another manifestation of Grayling Railways, was rather tired, and the catering was not as advertised.  Still, we were fed after a fashion, and plied with somewhat indifferent wine at intervals.

We got home to find that the landscapers have been busy.  The overgrown and mutilated cherry tree, the grass (such as it was) and the shrubs and weeds behind the conservatory have gone, without our having had to listen to chainsaws and stump grinders.  Just waiting for the Krach from the neighbours.  The chaps will no doubt be back next week to carry on with levelling and laying membrane and slate chippings.  We’re having a few new shrubs too, and plan to continue the box hedge round the periphery.  Sutton’s delivery of plug plants, which they had promised to defer till we got back, had arrived while we were away.  Good job we had landscapers on site, eh?

Dundee

Off early into a distinctly crisp Edinburgh morning to get our bus down to Waverley for the train to Dundee.  We opted for the more direct route, even though that involved a longer walk to the bus stop, so we got to se some different bits of the city.  Curious that blocks on Leith Walk have their own names: York Place, Gayfield Place and even a few called streets, and most of them have their own iron and enamel plates on the walls.

Busy trains to and from Broughty Ferry.  They use three-car units, and fill them pretty full, with most seats reserved.  The original Forth road bridge seems to be closed, save for a lot of builders’ vehicles. I seem to recall reading that the main cables were seriously corroded.  The new bridge is a cable stayed bridge with three piers - a sort of miniature Viaduc de Millau, and elegant in proportion.  The train hugs the coast of Fife for much of the way to Kirkcaldy and beyond, which makes for a scenic ride in good weather.  We had a fair bit of rain unfortunately, but there were a few glimpses of sunshine looking across to the other side of the Forth.

We had a short wait in Dundee for our train to Broughty Ferry, so took the chance to have a look at the Discovery and the new V&A, which opens this coming weekend.  A bit more tourism in Broughty Ferry, since we arrived nearly an hour before our lunch date.  For the first time in my life, I visited the castle - it was in the hands of the army when I lived there, hence rarely, if ever, accessible by the public.  There’s a nice little museum, including a fine model of the train ferry that used to ply between Broughty Ferry and Tayport before (and again after) the days of the first Tay Bridge.  (I mentioned to Martyn that, when I was young, old people would comment on the weather, saying ‘there’s no been a wind like yon since the nicht the brig fell’.).

Our lunch with Jackie was great fun, and we were joined by another classmate, Wendy Badenoch, whom I hadn’t seen for fifty years.  Much reminiscence!

Back to Edinburgh in the afternoon.  Since it was still cold and showery, we opted for more M&S takeaway dishes, a quiet evening at the flat and an early night.

Edinburgh

The taxis no longer drive into the station from the Waverley Bridge, and the signage to the new taxi rank was hopeless.  We eventually found a hansom that rattled us down to our digs, which are clean and adequate.  Our apartment is in a converted and rather grim looking school in red sandstone (I could just about hear echoes of the crack of the belt as we walked in!), and is an imaginative piece of work, with a mezzanine bedroom on top of the kitchen and bathroom in a section of a tall classroom.  The stair is narrow and steep, but at the time of writing I haven’t yet broken my neck.  Furniture and fittings are spartan, but will do for a few nights.

This morning we got the bus down to Leith to visit HMY Britannia.  The visit alone was worth the journey: fascinating!  The contrast between the sumptuous Royal apartments and the exiguous crew quarters was striking, of course.  Views across to Fife and up the river to the three bridges were spectacular.  We stayed aboard for tea and a scone apiece, then took a long, winding bus ride back to the centre to pick up a hop on/hop off tour bus at Waverley Bridge.  Good route, good commentary, by and large, and a good way to sample a city neither of us knows well.  We lunched in a restaurant just off the Grassmarket - Martyn’s Cullen skink required repeated doses of gaviscon, but my haggis, neeps and tatties were fine, and the main course hake we each had was very good.  We hopped back on the bus for the rest of the route down the bit of the Royal Mile we hadn’t driven up, and off into the elegant New Town.  We’d decided not to brave the crowds in the castle.  After the tour, we walked the length of Princes Street Gardens before catching a bus for a truly serpentine route back to our digs.

Feeling rather tired after our day in town, we opted for a small supper at the flat and an early night.  We shall try a different and more direct bus route tomorrow, at the expense of a longer walk to the bus stop.

Days in barracks, trips out

Not been out and about much lately, other than to the shops and for garden supplies.  I’ve been behaving like an utter bloke, feeling sorry for myself with a mere cold.  It hung around for a couple of weeks, off and on, forcing me to cancel a day at the hobby.  On one of the ‘off’ days, however, we treated ourselves to a familiar jaunt to Eastbourne via Birling Gap and Beachy Head.  The day was fine and breezy, and the views from Beachy Head were vast, from Dungeness in the East to Selsey Bill in the West.  After lunch we took a short stroll along the front and down the pier.  The bedding displays on the prom were very good, using a few subjects I didn’t recognise, along with the more familiar nicotianas, cannas and antirrhinums - and a welcome absence of marigolds!  

Lunch at our usual chain chippie was good enough, but service was less impressive, and I fear this was because of a higher British component in the waiter force than last time.  There is a ‘wait here to be seated’ sign out on the pavement, and we stood there like lemons while the staff fannied about inside.  One elderly gent behind us in the queue was not impressed: ‘It’s not a restaurant, it’s a bleedin’ fish & chip shop!’  We were eventually offered a seat next to the chiottes when I forced the pace, and moved ourselves to a better spot.  Still, our plaice and chips were as good as usual.

As I write, we’ve just passed Durham cathedral and the peculiar Angel of the North on our way to a short stay in Edinburgh.  Martyn is treating me to the trip as a birthday present, and managed to get a good deal on first class train tickets.  The ex-Virgin rolling stock is showing its age.  We abandoned our reserved seats because mine wouldn’t fix in the upright position.  I found a block of four unreserved in the next carriage, so we moved.  And the recline mechanism on one of the seats was bust as well.  The train manager’s attitude when I mentioned it was ‘well, a lot of them are broken’.  Welcome to Grayling railways, now tendenciously  rebranded LNER. 

Where do the days go?

Well, many of them in the company of good friends.  We had a delightful relaxed lunch with Celia and Andy at their place, where they are suffering the trials we had here some years ago: a huge building site is being developed just down the road from them, and  they have a steady stream of concrete trucks, and the constant drone of a largely ineffective street sweeper.  Their garden, though, is looking terrific, and is visited by dozens of colourful birds.  We need to review our feeder policy: we see lots of wood pigeons.  And that's about it.

Next outing was to the Rayner Bank Holiday bash at Faversham.  Filthy weather, as is traditional for said holiday, but good and entertaining company.  Martyn had made his legendary lemon drizzle cake (gin-free, despite my goading), and I'd knocked out a batch of naans.  And the next weekend it was back over to Norf Kent for Marion's birthday party, hosted in Walderslade by Derry.  Small wonder that the Cunard kilos are taking their time to dissipate.

Martyn has been working hard in the garden.  To the right of the steps between levels was a bed that had been overgrown by a hypericum and wild strawberries.  He has cleared it out, laid a membrane and furnished it with rocks and a few bags of decent soil.  He has planted a batch of alpines and one of the box cuttings that I rooted a couple of years ago.  Meanwhile, I have taken cuttings of hypericum, cistus pulverulens and five colours of penstemons, so we ought, if we can get them through the winter, to be able to replace some of the leggy parent plants.  I dead-headed the rudbeckias yesterday, and found lots of seed in the bucket when I'd finished.  I'd already bought some commercial seed for next year, so we can maybe run a comparative test next spring!

Our home facelift continues.  We're very happy with the redecoration, and now that we have the new bedroom carpet down and the furniture back in place, we are feeling happier with our surroundings.  The last of the Miserable Magnolia has gone, as have the putty coloured wardrobe doors and the porridge coloured carpet.  Cream, white and Welsh slate grey look a damn' sight better.  I just need to bestir myself to get the paintings back on the walls.

Meanwhile, the cold lingers on.  I have now cancelled a sitting at the hobby, and slots at two U3A events, and am getting a bit fed up with it.  Still, I have a bit more energy now, so the grass is cut, at least.  Without apologies, I repeat the late and much lamented Isla's dictum: it's a bugger, gettin' auld.

Maintenance

One of the joys of home ownership is that Things Go Wrong.  There's usually some job or other that needs seeing to.  Some tradesman or other left a floorboard loose in the bedroom, so Martyn took the opportunity of an imminent new carpet to get the old one up and fasten it properly. 

Downstairs in the kitchen, the oven has a nasty habit of tripping the circuit breaker.  Assuming this to be connected to the fact that the light bulb in it had blown, we set about taking it out so we could get a replacement.  In the process, the glass dome broke, which means that we can't use the oven until it is replaced.  When the dome assumed its two-part condition, it helpfully left behind the threaded part, firmly attached to its socket.  A spot of brute force and judicious application of hammer and screwdriver got it out, and replacement dome and bulb have been ordered.  So we ought to have a working oven again some time next week.  Good job we also have a built in combi oven, plus the old free-standing one parked in the garage!

Back in the winter, I found that a double-glazing unit in the sitooterie had blown, so ordered a replacement - the last one we'll get under the ten-year warranty.  I was up at my usual indecent hour this morning, and was dressed in time to let in the chap from the double-glazing firm.  It has only taken them six months!  Our local supplier, whom we use now that the warranty on the rest of the double glazing has expired, typically comes up with the goods in two weeks.  Well, at least it's done now, though I dare say it won't be the last.

Progress?

We were musing just now about the stuff we hang on to even though it has little or no current value.  When I was doing a (minimal) tidying-up of the kitchen just now, I found the ticket to the textile museum in St Gallen, which comes printed on a little scrap of fabric: it's so cute that I can't quite bring myself to part with it, but since most of what I read these days comes in one electronic format or another, I have few vacancies for bookmarks.  We were taking stock of cameras.  Martyn has a Canon Sureshot that he bought decades ago in Toronto, a couple of digital cameras and a camcorder.  I still have at least one film SLR camera, a digital SLR and no fewer than three other digital cameras.  And which of  them do we use most?  None of them: we use our iPhones.  We have a code for this kind of thing.  When my great aunt was worrying, back in the 1970s, about how to pay her care home fees, she said 'there's a good gramophone I could sell': by that point any gramophone, good or otherwise, had become at best a museum piece, and at worst mere ballast.  Our code for obsolete stuff that we ought to ditch, but hesitate to in view of what it cost, is therefore 'Aunty's good gramophone'.

The very hot weather seems to have left us for the time being.  We've had a lot of rain over the last few days, and I'm back into the spring and autumn pattern of watching for a decent day to get the washing done and dried outside.  Today being fine, you won't need three guesses as to what adorns the back yard.  The grass got a cut on Wednesday, when there were enough tufts of green here and there to make it look scruffy.  Just three days later it is greening up well, so I guess I'll be chasing the mower round again in a few days' time.

My on-line purchasing skills are distinctly curate's egg these days.  The sheets for the back bedroom beds seem OK, and are now out on the line.  Next, I ordered a new watch strap from the manufacturer, since my current one now has a sharp bit of wire sticking out from the mesh.  I measured carefully, and ordered a 22mm strap.  When I released the old strap from the watch, it became clear that the 22mm refers not to the strap, but to the 'ole it 'as to go in.  Vile language ensued, since it wasn't inexpensive: it goes back to the supplier on Monday.  Rather than buy again from the manufacturer, I have ordered a replacement from a UK firm whose web site, unlike the manufacturer's, lists a wide range of straps, specifying the model numbers of the watches they will fit.  One lives and learns, usually too late.  Watch (sorry!) this space. 

Homeward bound - PHOTOS ADDED

Sunday.   I awoke just as we were sailing up to our mooring off Propriano, as ever in warm early morning sunshine.  One advantage of waking early is that you can get at the launderette before the queues begin to form.  I’d run rather short of socks, not expecting to have to wear them very often.  The morning walk round Cádiz and consequent blisters persuaded me otherwise.  So a few pairs of socks and some shirts were washed by breakfast time and dried by the time I was outside my kedgeree.

Next we watched the process of deploying the tenders, which ran a ship to shore shuttle service all day.  We caught a tender shortly after 09:00, and took a walk along the front.  Propriano is beautifully situated on the bay of Valinco, and has all the amenities of a small French town, plus a lot of tourist traps.  I’d hoped to rent a car for the day, but could find nothing on line.  There is a Hertz sign outside a travel agency on the quay, but the place was hermetically sealed, it being Sunday.  I’d have thought that the arrival of 2000+ tourists on a big boat might have persuaded them to open, but not so.  (We later heard from the Old Man that Propriano was not interested in the customary exchange of plaques to mark the ship’s maiden visit to the port.)  We contented ourselves with stroll along the front and a panaché apiece in a bar on the main drag.

As we sipped our shandies, our ears were assailed by a loud, vulgar fellow from Halifax several seats away, bragging about his cabin with its bath and jacuzzi, the balcony along two sides, how he had dispatched the complimentary bottles of gin and vodka, and how ‘I get proper chocolates, not those little ones you get’.  Give me strength.  

The town was very crowded, so once we had done the messages we came back aboard for lunch and a brief siesta.  It being Sunday, a lot of people were out sailing and whizzing around on jet skis, so that provided entertainment as we relaxed on the balcony.  We were slightly delayed on sailing because of a twisted anchor chain.  Logical, since the ship had swung round through 180º while it was moored.

After yet another excellent supper we headed for the wipeout quiz.  Having won it the night before, we were wiped out this time!

Monday.   After a somewhat fitful night’s sleep, I was up early again.  No hardship, though, since the temperature on the balcony is already comfortably over 20º by 06:00.  Just as the sun was coming up, I went for a little swim.  I was a bit panicky when I got in, not having swum for a couple of years, but after a couple of breadths at the shallow end I was more comfortable.  Nothing too strenuous this first time, but I did a handful of lengths.  It’s a two-stroke pool: a good push and two strokes and you’re at the other end, so not too taxing!  

Since we rounded Cape Finisterre (the Spanish one) on the way out, I’ve hardly been conscious of any movement of the ship.  It is a big barge, of course, at over 90,000 tons.  The Bay of Biscay may be fun, of course, now that there’s a bit of weather further north.

Dinner was entertaining: my supposedly medium cooked lamb arrived distinctly overdone, so went back.  The replacement was scarcely different so also went back.  Third time lucky: it was closer to medium, and very good.

Tuesday.   Gibraltar.  We weren’t that impressed, apart from the amazing views from the rock.  The minibus tout on the quay said we’d have to queue two hours for the cable car, but pay the same to go up to the rock in his bus.  Offer declined, no queue for cable car, no crowds at the top.  It’s a longish walk to the cable car base station, and the fare isn’t exactly a gift, even for the aged.  But we got a flavour of the town, at least, and have done our daily dose of 10’000 paces.  The main drag is not unreminiscent of Chatham High Street, and the place is similarly fly-blown and tatty.

No monkeys to be seen, except for those illustrated herewith.

We had the best lunch on board so far: cod and chips in the pub.  Dinner was entertaining again.  I didn’t dare order the lamb again, but our neighbour John did, and his well done order arrived practically bleating.  The waiters are starting to dread our corner of the dining room.  With rare (sorry!) exceptions, I'm full of admiration for the galley's ability to serve 800+ covers per sitting with such excellent and beautifully prepared food.

We came second in a couple of quizzes today.  Must Try Harder.

Wednesday.   The first of our two full days at sea from Gibraltar to Southampton, and one when the swell picked up for the first time.  I rather enjoyed watching other smaller vessels pitching and rolling in the lively sea.  The Queen Victoria cut through most of it with dignity, but there was the occasional shudder.  I did some laundry while Martyn slumbered on, and dried it during breakfast.  The bagwash opens at 07:30, and by 07:31 all three machines were running.

We saw no land at all during the day, no dolphins and no whales.  But other entertainments were available.  We went to a Q&A session with a screen writer, Billy Ivory, who has been lecturing during the trip: he was very entertaining.  We did a couple of quizzes (lost the morning one, but won the evening wipeout thanks to Martyn’s prodigious general knowledge).  In the afternoon, the guest choir gave its performance, which was great fun.  Our dinner table neighbour was one of the choir, which got a good and appreciative audience, including for a while the captain.

By dinner time the swell was quite pronounced, though only between two and three metres.  The restaurant is at the blunt end of the ship, and of course the pitching is felt most at either end.  Our neighbour John is rather susceptible to seasickness, and was looking rather grey at intervals, but managed his dinner.  We’ll no doubt find out whether he hung on to it.

Thursday.   The day dawns fine again, though it’s a fair bit cooler.  The swell settled down a lot as we rounded Cape Finisterre into the Bay of Biscay.  Said Bay gets a bad name, but for our money the Atlantic off the Portuguese coast is altogether more sporting.  We remember watching the waves breaking on the rocks across from the flat we rented in Foz do Douro, and the pitching and rolling of ships leaving Matosinhos.  Search YouTube some time for surfing at Nazaré and you’ll get an idea.  (We signed up yesterday for another couple of visits to the Bay of Biscay in December....)

A relaxed morning: a bit more packing, another quiz (we lost), some whale watching from the Lido and then a pleasant Q&A session with the captain in the theatre.  In the afternoon we saw a performance of Neil Simon’s ‘California Suite’, performed by the incredibly versatile Royal Court singers, who proved to be more than passable actors.  Thence to the Queen’s Room for the guest talent show, in which neighbour John sang a good solo of This is the Moment, and Ben, whom we met on the bus to Rome and in various quizzes, did a spirited Mac the Knife.  

Thence to redeem our quiz winnings, which amounted to two specs cases and two ball-point pens.  Old lags tell us that you can carry your points forward to the next cruise, though hostess Laura said we couldn’t.  Somewhat academic, given the leisurely rate at which we accumulated our mind-bending total of eight points.  Oh, and we lost the evening wipeout quiz on the tie breaker: what size are Laura’s shoes?

Well, the bags are out, and we’re in the mood to get home now.  Although we are heading toward the top of the Cotentin as I write, the temperature, wind direction and calm sea are allowing us a last evening out on the balcony, watching some ships running alongside us in the sunset.

Friday.   I was up in the middle of the night as usual, but it was just warm enough to sit on the balcony and catch up on my emails.  We were close enough to the Isle of Wight to pick up a BT signal.  A last outrageous breakfast, then it was back to the cabin to finalise the packing of our little back packs.  Disembarkation, in stark contrast to our experience on the Queen Elizabeth, was pretty Fred Karno's.  It didn't help that they couldn't get the public address working in the theatre, where we'd gathered.  Once we were finally off, the processes of collecting the bags and the car were painless and brisk.

Having had a dreadful drive to Southampton on the A27, we opted to return by the picturesque but slow A272.  I guess it took us roughly as long as the journey out.  So I suspect the M25 and M3 route is the least worst.  We found all well at home, except for the burglar alarm, which has gone on strike.  Decorator James has made an excellent job of the bedrooms and the garage doors.  His charges are not too high, so I think we have retired definitively from decorating!  Thanks to Andy and Celia (and a fortuitous spot of rain) the garden is looking quite good.  

Saturday.   In fact, there must have been a good downpour, since the water butts, empty when we left, are full.  The rudbeckias are at last in full bloom: I was starting to think before we went away that they were going to be very disappointing.  The foliage is pretty boring, but a good crop of flowers makes all the difference.