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.