tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28771911997409678172024-03-06T23:43:54.289-08:00Alex's Travel TalesAlexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.comBlogger92125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-30597524369960715772008-12-12T17:15:00.000-08:002008-12-12T21:00:33.977-08:00Taking the inital "Next Step"<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Egh2A-BMf7EDzGZFqrIFuWdU3Y2AyajiXzONRsevyrdz7cJZMzOakyBxlBb87H1weysFuZVjKwVHjIxpYxp5C1afe-vo7K0TihJHVOUxO-N2MDTRGUUTOYcrCaLV53az3zFNNhdJfS8i/s1600-h/Outside.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279079100391020002" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Egh2A-BMf7EDzGZFqrIFuWdU3Y2AyajiXzONRsevyrdz7cJZMzOakyBxlBb87H1weysFuZVjKwVHjIxpYxp5C1afe-vo7K0TihJHVOUxO-N2MDTRGUUTOYcrCaLV53az3zFNNhdJfS8i/s320/Outside.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I just spent the best part of four hours writing a blog about Ascot, finding the pictures to go with it, editting it and posting it only to find out from Davina that I have already written about Ascot back in June when it actually happened. Lovely. I am very switched on and up to date obviously. So actually, I have no idea what I am up to on this blog, but will wing it and see what happens.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I am writing this entry in Sydney at my Mum's house. A series of events have lead me here but I am far from certain that this is where I should actually be. I guess only time will tell.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8tsxGdJ7z-BR7P-sulHPj7F6kXO8gfEdoKbRJqYwmggGWmUbRqNU2LAz2glbXRYHWaiadiiy2mjcE6I9omhlWdbkmvQFQ92wbOrnxlYLrVVORlO65kQBbZ2c4yVeHuPvcILy4Q1cD7fv8/s1600-h/Yr+5+class+photo.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279081116067391778" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8tsxGdJ7z-BR7P-sulHPj7F6kXO8gfEdoKbRJqYwmggGWmUbRqNU2LAz2glbXRYHWaiadiiy2mjcE6I9omhlWdbkmvQFQ92wbOrnxlYLrVVORlO65kQBbZ2c4yVeHuPvcILy4Q1cD7fv8/s320/Yr+5+class+photo.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So how did I get here? The teacher I replaced at Telferscot Primary School decided not to return to her job after her maternity leave finished. No one was surprised by this at all. Not because she wanted to spend time with her son, but rather, she told me that she was so burnt out by the time she left that she just refused to consider returning at all. Over time this seemed to be a bit of a running theme at that school. Anyway, her job was advertised and the Head Teacher asked me to apply. I wasn't so sure. It was a permanent full time position with the school (I was employed through an agency at that point) and would mean a change in Visa and sponsorship which would limit my ability to move if I wanted to. After thought and consideration I thought you only live once and I might not even get the job anyway so I put my application in. I got an interview and sat down with the panel to answer their questions. Half way through the interview the Head Teacher asked me some really odd questions which made me think that there was more going on than I realised. I have always thought that the point of the interview process was to find the best candidate for the job. If I was the best candidate for the job I should be the one who gets it regardless of what nationality I am. Obviously I have much to learn and shouldn't be so naive. I walked away from the interview in a stunned awe. Writing this now and looking back it doesn't seem so dramatic but at the time I was just amazed that this system of doing things was so...dodgy is really the only word I can think of.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Between my interview and the outcome two very sad things happened in my class that shook me to the core. One of my children brought a gun to school; he came from a very difficult home life and he had brought it to school to show off. The second instance was a boy from my class was snatched from the playground. In both instances the school brushed the situation away with very little attempt to sort out the issue. I would rather not write up the circumstances here as it probably isn't appropriate but it left me more than a little bit shocked. I went home and downed a bottle of wine.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Two days later I was offered the full time job. But by this stage I didn't think I wanted to continue at Telferscot for another 12 months so I declined.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiitFGe8XRE_t3QvwP5H4VKtI_9Ai9vCiyMyAhz_L8zgxiyarL2JBDcwj14DnTyyt5C7xobxNXbVjVenWYubKPyzRocuzNUjHBEICLHYt_nC5v1qS7PkHYGCi4Ge_8TGaPm8As9OIQIOXU/s1600-h/Fran+and+turtle.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279090748020764994" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiitFGe8XRE_t3QvwP5H4VKtI_9Ai9vCiyMyAhz_L8zgxiyarL2JBDcwj14DnTyyt5C7xobxNXbVjVenWYubKPyzRocuzNUjHBEICLHYt_nC5v1qS7PkHYGCi4Ge_8TGaPm8As9OIQIOXU/s320/Fran+and+turtle.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Another contributing factor was that my lovely co-worker Fran decided to leave to travel and then teach in Australia. She is an amazing teacher and we had a blast hanging out after hours too. Since she lived three streets away we used to have lunch or dinner at each others house with no tube travel involved. With no Fran at school how would I cope? :)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">By the time school had finished and I had finished up working a few days at the holiday care camp for Sammi I had boxes everywhere in various stages of packing. Being the seasoned procrastinator that I am I went to Fran's parent's place in Devon to see her hometown and eat more "Devonshire Teas".</span><br /></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-58026247716161572222008-11-01T16:23:00.000-07:002008-11-01T18:55:38.395-07:00Silly on Scilly and the great mystery of the missing brie!<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx2FPY40KdEo5r87_RCXHjfzvO9twUlRS9pS9dDIOwAHqgvqZZcJ_1mQL3xY55qrjtSZzteaIRYSJ35eiKNejS-i6tOwWb8Lgo7b6RxN6NVW0-lyKkn4wxKppmsznj62VHTliUL0dfRF2U/s1600-h/Walkway.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263866035430461794" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 223px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx2FPY40KdEo5r87_RCXHjfzvO9twUlRS9pS9dDIOwAHqgvqZZcJ_1mQL3xY55qrjtSZzteaIRYSJ35eiKNejS-i6tOwWb8Lgo7b6RxN6NVW0-lyKkn4wxKppmsznj62VHTliUL0dfRF2U/s320/Walkway.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Back in January when I was living in Jo and Jonathon's flat in Tooting I had watched a program on TV called "An Island Parish". It was about an Anglican priest who had decided to take a left hand turn in his career path and take on a parish on the remote island of St Mary's in a group of small islands off the south west coast of England called the Isles of Scilly. Although it sounds like a Nana program it was actually very interesting, especially when his wife decides she can't take the remoteness anymore and grabs the kids and hot foots it back to the mainland leaving him alone and rather depressed (it rains a lot and to get anywhere you have to do it by boat, a problem for a priest who suffers extreme seasickness).<br /><br /></span></div><div align="justify"><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Yz1im97Trufd52XfdVpd2_egc_rU0S1D75sRkJw4GRFgRvW4cijbtMBq2iP9OLmwgzFbTvdncCpDk0YmEBGQM1K3GCLYnNXsvJEh_5QNXPOsGSbtwRVs5ZtlXlgj6xtFneFFZbCdnZMe/s1600-h/Aerial+Scilly+2.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263845508033010146" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Yz1im97Trufd52XfdVpd2_egc_rU0S1D75sRkJw4GRFgRvW4cijbtMBq2iP9OLmwgzFbTvdncCpDk0YmEBGQM1K3GCLYnNXsvJEh_5QNXPOsGSbtwRVs5ZtlXlgj6xtFneFFZbCdnZMe/s320/Aerial+Scilly+2.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As Davina pulled out her map at the Godolphin pub in front of Michael St Mount I happened to notice that there was a small insert box highlighted at the bottom and lo and behold, there were the Isles of Scilly. I'm a bit of a doofus when it comes to TV, nothing seems real. I could see my own house on there and still have the sense of feeling that it was in a make believe world far, far away. So seeing the Isles of Scilly on a map was very exciting and after a quick trip to the Tourist Information centre we found out we could get to the Isles of Scilly several different ways. With nothing much else to do in Penzance and with the fire of excitement in my belly we made the decision to head further south and a little bit west to St Mary's. Next decision was, how do we actually get there?<br /></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgANhOzmwYiHmc7CLgDK7_ZTxxSr6KMMhwYpte9SCmDw5Eke_wUXbVhSbkQfCuGQn2vmPJLOKa2rlBzJaU7aGgEAzenD1yNR2BSmVIWMQhNkr2s3WL3g38imdMrHnF7oInAObG8adC1fgD5/s1600-h/Helicopter.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263845623841907890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgANhOzmwYiHmc7CLgDK7_ZTxxSr6KMMhwYpte9SCmDw5Eke_wUXbVhSbkQfCuGQn2vmPJLOKa2rlBzJaU7aGgEAzenD1yNR2BSmVIWMQhNkr2s3WL3g38imdMrHnF7oInAObG8adC1fgD5/s320/Helicopter.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There are 3 main forms of transport to the Isles of Scilly. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">1) By ferry boat. It takes 3 hours to get there and with the slightest wind, tends to render any and all passengers green around the edges and permanently attached to the sick bag. This was the cheapest option.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">2) By sea plane. This seemed the most popular form of transportation and travel time was limited to 45 minutes. It was a a small Cessna type aircraft with seating for approximately 40 people. It made 6 daily trips out to the islands and back and cost about £90.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">3) By helicopter. Travel time was 25 minutes and you could fly to 4 different islands as it was not limited to the runway at the St Mary's airport. The helicopter charter company offered day trips where they would fly you out and back in one day with lunch on the island of your choice. It cost about £150. Or you could use them as a flight only and stay out on the island.<br /></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadQqkJwlTLcEiC7idmnfYIhO610Vs9BqzWsO32rkOeslBo9Cn5GO3eYUDxNkDUg0IGmGdu4HLgnqEh-q-Vc5vgqCcP0FJoNxVjtY2Co7giFEaoCxHXT2ORT1xRCd5B_As168AstNmMYmY/s1600-h/Me+on+the+helicopter.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263848102028295090" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadQqkJwlTLcEiC7idmnfYIhO610Vs9BqzWsO32rkOeslBo9Cn5GO3eYUDxNkDUg0IGmGdu4HLgnqEh-q-Vc5vgqCcP0FJoNxVjtY2Co7giFEaoCxHXT2ORT1xRCd5B_As168AstNmMYmY/s320/Me+on+the+helicopter.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You can guess which one the budget travellers Davina and I were chose, can't you? Helicopters all the way!!!! They were large corporate helicopters, like one ones used to ferry celebrities and politicians around in. Inside was trimmed with cream leather with plush cream carpeting and an air hostess to explain the finer details of how to unfasten your seat belt when you are hanging upside down submerged in water after you crash.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Flying into Scilly, the first 15 minutes are just water views, with no land in sight at all. And then popping up over the horizon you can see a dot of green surrounded by even smaller dots. The Isles of Scilly are made up of six inhabited islands and numerous other small rocky islets (around 140 in total) lying 45 km off the coast of Land's End at the bottom of Cornwall. The four main inhabited islands are St Mary's, Tresco, St Martin's and St Agnes. Because of their global position the islands are more often than not battered by fierce rain storms, but very rarely see ice and snow. As a result they have a booming flower farming industry which supplies the mainland with flowers, especially daffodils, long before any of the flower farms up there have a chance of growing anything. Scilly has been inhabited since the Stone Age and people have been making a living off the land and the sea there ever since. Farming and fishing continue today, but the main industry now is tourism.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJU-4uC_LfkmixQHuoeJ47qYW2wmuzsx7lPdHIGqGLbVExJ1EDPD7diNRTkOdcTzlXQ7N3cnSrbNSwZbgsxXv_N6niqJlAEBM2jG5DYVZfsEMqvtZ52bPRFwfo4EGZm3tb4gINney8uJH7/s1600-h/St+Mary%27s.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263856659785147474" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJU-4uC_LfkmixQHuoeJ47qYW2wmuzsx7lPdHIGqGLbVExJ1EDPD7diNRTkOdcTzlXQ7N3cnSrbNSwZbgsxXv_N6niqJlAEBM2jG5DYVZfsEMqvtZ52bPRFwfo4EGZm3tb4gINney8uJH7/s320/St+Mary%27s.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Davina and I caught an island taxi (someone has cleaned out an old Kombi like van and added a few extra rickety seats) into town for the hefty price of £3 each. We had booked the only remaining room on the island at a B&B (everyone's house is a B&B between May and October) and had had visions of being squished into a single bed together but were pleasantly surprised to find a room with two beds and an ensuite, even if the room tilted on a 30º angle! </span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBjvTW8xaoAx-Rfx5ZatDhpT-oROAL9Rqw00-gSxlO4bysX3Aq3OcAL3euKDdKsz3BdjIvR6rlc5kOSxheVXtpJ0isI-JrXgNVaDIp0Lc70IZfctNP2rWP5LRvqvvEjsKh5wJi5K7hzLHL/s1600-h/Sunburn+in+the+making.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_HAguYYYtO5NGeXlZf0LYhWSnOB9Cxv9KfyXQZ4qTJCcMnzV_IheMXYimhFlBXVpDpViECCn_INz-4EHNTCKOKdMBsdHgsRIMPcvTaNARn6bvh51WGfq25N4sxw8ep-QpYyM3TjkiJIc/s1600-h/Davina+pasty+eating.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263859925160369746" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_HAguYYYtO5NGeXlZf0LYhWSnOB9Cxv9KfyXQZ4qTJCcMnzV_IheMXYimhFlBXVpDpViECCn_INz-4EHNTCKOKdMBsdHgsRIMPcvTaNARn6bvh51WGfq25N4sxw8ep-QpYyM3TjkiJIc/s320/Davina+pasty+eating.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As with Penzance, there is not much to do in Scilly. The shops that line the main street in Maintown (yep, that's the largest town's name) are geared towards tourists as you would expect. Davina found a fabulous dress which she later wore to Royal Ascot and I picked up a windbreaker vest to ward off the chill as it was on sale. I will probably find it too hot to wear anywhere else in the world, but it was perfect for the hike I did later on. I went up and about one of the walking tracks that took you around the main island. It was beautiful scenery and I felt something akin to the feeling I had at Nord Kapp last year, of standing on the edge of the earth and out there somewhere is a vast drop off into the unknown. I also ended up feeling sunburnt and managed to create a wonderful set of huge panda eyes where my skin had white sunglasses marks! </span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir_72xUeDk0zFya05HJ72ApTCj_sA_oVOCw6XJfxDMmeKLEiJ5X1Yw_goTRyf-tKjqQNGl2idj9qWX7ODJA21TYzt4yvVGj35pagBV53g15FkeNrcoC3YNV0jOQWWRMfd1yWXY4xfgn0eC/s1600-h/Horses.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263858918139548226" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir_72xUeDk0zFya05HJ72ApTCj_sA_oVOCw6XJfxDMmeKLEiJ5X1Yw_goTRyf-tKjqQNGl2idj9qWX7ODJA21TYzt4yvVGj35pagBV53g15FkeNrcoC3YNV0jOQWWRMfd1yWXY4xfgn0eC/s320/Horses.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Around the top of one of the headland there is a nature reserve. You can open the gates and walk through it without too much hassle, but someone on the island decided to play a joke a while ago and put horses in there too. Now wild horses roam the nature reserves along with the tourist trekkers and they seem quiet and relaxed enough but I wasn't game to pat any of them. I later found out that the park ranger keeps them well fed and groomed although is reluctant to take them on officially. </span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7xoFor0I5WmdYeFNs-vD0f_sOQ6VYXc4WNk9RN3esZHF4D47D0jjqMDX3SR9yt2LkTM9LYkM2bIKM4csZGz6CUbi7LvPotyhM84FpHV2PytL03x2b07VYf3C0NBtZuKC8QRI0Xs4t1ytt/s1600-h/Drinking+at+the+pub+on+Scilly.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263859644743994642" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7xoFor0I5WmdYeFNs-vD0f_sOQ6VYXc4WNk9RN3esZHF4D47D0jjqMDX3SR9yt2LkTM9LYkM2bIKM4csZGz6CUbi7LvPotyhM84FpHV2PytL03x2b07VYf3C0NBtZuKC8QRI0Xs4t1ytt/s320/Drinking+at+the+pub+on+Scilly.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">For lunch Davina had her obligatory Cornish pasty as the Isles of Scilly come under the jurisdiction of the Duke of Cornwall (aka Charles, Prince of Wales) and when in Cornwall... After which we did what any self respecting traveller with time on their hands does - went to the pub for a quiet ale with the locals and a read of the well creased and dog-eared novel you carry at the bottom of your bag. Because in the end, it is at the pub that you hear the best gossip and keep up to date with the news of the town and it is also where Davina and I heard about the local quiz night being held at the pub near the wharf.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSitpMHmURTwO46Jm75HXHKdBZb5qG9vBafwnKlCiTRlfZzTao4voRMwIOT0VeotzQ_UVIh7N-xAJ3tUUN_Pjr7hKK5Cv8aeG44g_nqDFB9PnxgH8g92bpJBsefhIROeTjjtQ4fDtLz0Nk/s1600-h/Quiz+night.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263862266959398146" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSitpMHmURTwO46Jm75HXHKdBZb5qG9vBafwnKlCiTRlfZzTao4voRMwIOT0VeotzQ_UVIh7N-xAJ3tUUN_Pjr7hKK5Cv8aeG44g_nqDFB9PnxgH8g92bpJBsefhIROeTjjtQ4fDtLz0Nk/s320/Quiz+night.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The pub near the wharf had recently (as in that day) finished it's major overhaul and refurbishment. I am not sure what it looked like before the overhaul but it was still odd looking after it. Everyone sat perched on these old and wobbly stools around tables that were equally strange looking. It added such a fabulous atmosphere to the place. A real eating adventure unlike anything I had ever done or am likely to do again. </span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhacGX95wlV7zDZKdwMCLmBgNkfsMuaiBl5Mf7VFUOah6fFMl8mgWDyLACueliMLwzZpWdzpslhbDfQRF5c1O-Fi8itNBncdW-YyWafHyDMUG-GizbNg9dwmUR7G_NAmnndp37O36RUsZW8/s1600-h/Ferret.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263862968839453826" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhacGX95wlV7zDZKdwMCLmBgNkfsMuaiBl5Mf7VFUOah6fFMl8mgWDyLACueliMLwzZpWdzpslhbDfQRF5c1O-Fi8itNBncdW-YyWafHyDMUG-GizbNg9dwmUR7G_NAmnndp37O36RUsZW8/s320/Ferret.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'm going to remember that place (even if I can't remember the name) for three very distinct reasons - 1) the fact that Davina and I scored the lowest quiz score out of everyone there and it was announced on the microphone, 2) Davina ordered a deep fried brie from the menu and when she cut into it there was no brie. Where did the brie go? and 3) there was a lady who brought her ferret to the pub for quiz night. When questioned by management about the inclusion of an animal in her party she replied "Your sign says 'No Dogs' and this is quite clearly not a dog!" Needless to say the ferret stayed. As did the dog who had been wandering in and around the tables all night without a mention or query at all. </span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7MUmZfCJM-iNkd-QgWExggNzLZkz3EnaVFliCd2zirrNmqV5HwWfgBG-kChkU9_YYu-zoJfQgkKnmV8qUvKQYQe-NRWtGZj0CtoSDScwDX6oGZdZjhpEW0H1cQVYliNA88GXvMq3gqss/s1600-h/Puffins.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263865387594754386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 250px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7MUmZfCJM-iNkd-QgWExggNzLZkz3EnaVFliCd2zirrNmqV5HwWfgBG-kChkU9_YYu-zoJfQgkKnmV8qUvKQYQe-NRWtGZj0CtoSDScwDX6oGZdZjhpEW0H1cQVYliNA88GXvMq3gqss/s320/Puffins.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The next day, after sleeping on an angle that night, Davina and I set sail on a tour of some of the other islands in the group. We got to see Puffins and some other different marine and bird life that flock to these islands as a safe haven. The best part however was getting close up to a seal as it ducked in and out of the combined wash of the boat and the waves that crashed up against the rocks. I have exactly 3 photographs of this water tour as it turn out my stomach and I do not agree on what is "good form" on the water. I had an excellent time and my devonshire tea lunch did not come back to haunt me later but it was touch and go there for quite some time (ok, until we got back to the wharf). But not to worry, the ice cream I had straight after sorted me out! :)</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Not long after we got back to dry land we had to speed up to the airport in the island taxi again and lift off to get back to Penzance to meet my 6pm train to London Paddington (6.5hrs, ick!). Luckily I am much better in the air and on a train than I am on water!</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I recommend the Isles of Scilly 100%. Going there was a spur of the moment decision based on a <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1t_9x8CsxdV7eE03OYUmAAcL-KLoCiNnkEIWBTE1QYBQfU6gDNgsumWRAqEFFLczC4IM5kk91L43HND_umG-C-JGTCTQXHWhyphenhyphen44QrImrKJBRaj1tsOjtoNOIxapNhRUCbdlAmfLWaMtn/s1600-h/Flying.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263865567368875666" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1t_9x8CsxdV7eE03OYUmAAcL-KLoCiNnkEIWBTE1QYBQfU6gDNgsumWRAqEFFLczC4IM5kk91L43HND_umG-C-JGTCTQXHWhyphenhyphen44QrImrKJBRaj1tsOjtoNOIxapNhRUCbdlAmfLWaMtn/s320/Flying.jpg" border="0" /></span></a>TV show I had seen 6 months earlier. It was wonderful walking around and seeing the places I recognised from the show and taking time out to slow down and absorb the culture of a society almost always forgot about by mainlanders. But apart from that, and the exclusiveness of the fact that not many people can say that they have walked the shores of Scilly, it felt good putting my money into an economy that so desperately needs it. More people move away from Scilly each year because of the hardship of trying to make a living there. Last year the tourist season was a write-off as the planes, boats and helicopters were grounded for the majority of summer due to weather and everyone on the islands suffered. I've been on Contiki trips and poured my money into the booming economies of Europe and Scandinavia, but this felt so much better and whilst I didn't see the big sights I did on those commercial trips, I felt so much more on those islands than I have in a very long time (and technically on their water too but I get the impression that might have been for a completely different reason!).</span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-2915163930674447342008-09-09T20:42:00.000-07:002008-10-14T05:12:59.336-07:00Pirates aplenty in Penzance<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIQ52kDYqgCW2vnP4lRPQ4fEfUBLmYiwoZHSnXFZjh7YwUGwv_7x5opolPNay_IGNjdLWUW2a1a9MUAozDsP9__xQpZf-p0FQkFsptAcWnmAhPK0u9wA20ClsHqCjzXffq9AP71rvEmwSd/s1600-h/Davina+leaving+St+Ives.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256953301456598322" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIQ52kDYqgCW2vnP4lRPQ4fEfUBLmYiwoZHSnXFZjh7YwUGwv_7x5opolPNay_IGNjdLWUW2a1a9MUAozDsP9__xQpZf-p0FQkFsptAcWnmAhPK0u9wA20ClsHqCjzXffq9AP71rvEmwSd/s320/Davina+leaving+St+Ives.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Back onto the First Great Western train to Penzance Davina and I found ourselves reading, sleeping, chatting to while away the four or so hours to Penzance. Penzance has always been a mythical place to me. A place you hear of in fantasy and fairy tales where Pirates reside and shenanigans are aplenty in public houses that line the wooden foreshore docks. I never really expected it to be real. But real it was and unfortunately rather disappointing. It is <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx0KbkUkG7PYm-8VUEf7iKbZBuMG9pE8nK4oqdbrdnf6C8lJvUFqBbGGCzGDJXYKtTmKdHvjuebEKAlRmEdSY8b198GMuUVyB6ZmPYIf53AgRhkq9IOzMuTyX6qoa4v0vNpaGuT5FCuLay/s1600-h/Alex+Rd.jpg"></a>grey, dull and I want to say concreted. The town wraps itself around a port in a sweeping motion that, as you walk to the bottom end, draws you into a run down and long forgotten tip of England. </span><br /><br /></div><div align="justify"><div><div><div><div><div><div><p align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwl2GRFu6DpGnJ-eE5Vt7-0IXjde9Mc8lNrJXpngvddu1JVaPZIKCNbcMz1e2tg5PIO3nCeywm6iAxtUHLzn_Hn7M1NgZ4GKpKbrB1xtATiKC36mC9JW5VryQwGUkJCCiKZP3cJAHihEGx/s1600-h/Alexandra+Road.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256952254702940130" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwl2GRFu6DpGnJ-eE5Vt7-0IXjde9Mc8lNrJXpngvddu1JVaPZIKCNbcMz1e2tg5PIO3nCeywm6iAxtUHLzn_Hn7M1NgZ4GKpKbrB1xtATiKC36mC9JW5VryQwGUkJCCiKZP3cJAHihEGx/s320/Alexandra+Road.jpg" border="0" /></a>Davina found us a great B&B in Alexandra Street. It was beautifully renovated and the owners were welcoming and attentive. It gave me hope that perhaps the real shine of Penzance wasn't its shell or it's notoriety but the kind and open-hearted people. Maybe I am over dramatising it all, but it was a kick in the guts to see what Penzance actually was. Totally not what I expected and a bit of a let down. But it did have its highlights and I give credit to Davina for picking some fantastic things to see - The Michael St Mount, the Minack theatre and the fish and chippie joint that made us laugh.</span></p><p align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhApeAu0vnB5HOnVB22DbnNsvoregUnJojx5CtMWgPLo655NiigpiMDnSws6VSzZ7jjjBkkQ4n6DUCC4XCuVyn9QWzINYEC5kHKI322OILvfYFFaq8cstyeuS1SPb_qoi9iuzFKiytJ2G7/s1600-h/Michael+St+Mount.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256953757706031250" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhApeAu0vnB5HOnVB22DbnNsvoregUnJojx5CtMWgPLo655NiigpiMDnSws6VSzZ7jjjBkkQ4n6DUCC4XCuVyn9QWzINYEC5kHKI322OILvfYFFaq8cstyeuS1SPb_qoi9iuzFKiytJ2G7/s320/Michael+St+Mount.jpg" border="0" /></a>Michael St Mount is at the northern part of the town. You pass it on the train coming in and on the bus going out. The castle stands tall and proud off the coast and seems both isolating and enticing at the same time. When the tide is in it is accessible only by boat. But when the tide goes out the true magic happens. Almost like a scaly dragon rising from the deep, a cobblestone walkway emerges from the water allowing people to walk across from the mainland to the church and surrounding buildings. Davina rolled up her trousers and took off, one foot in front of the other, hoping and praying the middle section wouldn't be too deep. Me? I did what any sane Australian does when faced with a breath-taking scene and a setting sun...headed to the Godolphin pub to appreciate it with a cold beverage! </span></p><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysss-blKzmX7xrfkEYo2IgOJ4X2nKKBaBW0wMvyGxJ5KgV2Y5cKef2QC1A5JBW3v0B5sGSZUWEdPgsgz-cO97mUJvsWecFS3kFX16rY0j29Bf1BWpvKZB5SwpznaNVFr21Z2DD526yTSt/s1600-h/Godolphin+Pub.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256954128523302194" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysss-blKzmX7xrfkEYo2IgOJ4X2nKKBaBW0wMvyGxJ5KgV2Y5cKef2QC1A5JBW3v0B5sGSZUWEdPgsgz-cO97mUJvsWecFS3kFX16rY0j29Bf1BWpvKZB5SwpznaNVFr21Z2DD526yTSt/s320/Godolphin+Pub.jpg" border="0" /></a>As any Aussie traveller will attest to - you travel 100,000 miles to meet Australians and Penzance is no different. Whilst I sat back and took in the "serenity" at the pub overlooking Michael St Mount I overheard a familiar accent and ended up talking to Ben from Umina whilst his kids had running races from the wall of the pub to the receding tide. Ben and his family were doing a house swap with a family from Penzance. For 4 months they swapped complete lives, from schools to cars to houses to jobs. It was a fascinating way to see the other side of the world and allow your kids to expand their minds with experiences and history not available at home. I also had to admire the youngest child's ingenuity when a mud throwing match broke out with his older siblings. Unable to sling the mud as far as the others, he perfected the art of catapulting seaweed by whipping it around his head a few times first. :)</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1w1mWzjPXTl4EnMOcBUsuhSVM3I5o4u06JHcy2paBa296cVMiUdXtoAlkYUM6eloVy-kO4WsFfw7thuG4aqw3wa-XhO9896oQkXHYyZSK_QXgAn_evJ2SBESLWuGgUikYUZUJwoiQgqtP/s1600-h/Minack+Theatre+Bay.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256974866640564914" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1w1mWzjPXTl4EnMOcBUsuhSVM3I5o4u06JHcy2paBa296cVMiUdXtoAlkYUM6eloVy-kO4WsFfw7thuG4aqw3wa-XhO9896oQkXHYyZSK_QXgAn_evJ2SBESLWuGgUikYUZUJwoiQgqtP/s320/Minack+Theatre+Bay.jpg" border="0" /></a>Davina, queen of finding strange, unusual and often life altering things to see and do, had heard about a theatre that had been carved into the sheer cliffs outside of Penzance. The Minack Theatre was designed, built and financed by a woman named Rowena Cade in the 50s and 60s. It was her lifelong dream to see plays performed with nature as the dramatic backdrop. "Minack" in Cornish means a rocky place and the theatre does not disappoint. The patrons sit on slabs of rock tiered up from a split stage. The actors and actresses work on two main levels - a spot light section up to the left of the main stage and the stage itself.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoXd_1wpa4yhGjbElmCRYPhDs0Np60lFHvwxbdO1-DDAEm7Be_nFz5KTWOJI6N7TcOC615TJD3rJQecUJOp5Jwc0Ui6QQdLWmUEMWQ__P6Elq5yyiXAlRCPxAb_nJe5SV92ye0ZCbp6l6i/s1600-h/Minack+Theatre.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256975001153531154" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoXd_1wpa4yhGjbElmCRYPhDs0Np60lFHvwxbdO1-DDAEm7Be_nFz5KTWOJI6N7TcOC615TJD3rJQecUJOp5Jwc0Ui6QQdLWmUEMWQ__P6Elq5yyiXAlRCPxAb_nJe5SV92ye0ZCbp6l6i/s320/Minack+Theatre.jpg" border="0" /></a>Getting to the theatre is an adventure unto itself. We caught the only bus that goes up and out of Penzance from the top of our B&B's street. It is old and although double storey you may be taking your life into your own hands heading up top. Keen adventurers that we were, we gave it a shot but most people stayed downstairs. The bus itself doesn't have a death wish so much as there is no stopping, slowing down or even allowing others to pass. It just hurtles along the ever increasingly smaller country roads, up jagged hills and down twisting and turning paths. When the roads became gravel rather than bitumen you know you are heading to the sticks. We made it in one piece 50 minutes later and then glanced up to realise that the biggest hill has been left to last and this one we had to hike up as the bus wouldn't make it. Nothing like a bit of exercise!</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wWE6kny04-j6EWm1Szz8ss4IUg_3h5y7amkeSbRMi_Ab1JlVuqt9CWZsXa2lQ9m1TVHXgp4bJ-GdLMk9LcKG1Gz4iIIiQGH7jHPmuCLukJ_0fVEMLbszzuZXefL1zbnlfOvO8wlg_GCK/s1600-h/Minack+at+night.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256975407486955122" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wWE6kny04-j6EWm1Szz8ss4IUg_3h5y7amkeSbRMi_Ab1JlVuqt9CWZsXa2lQ9m1TVHXgp4bJ-GdLMk9LcKG1Gz4iIIiQGH7jHPmuCLukJ_0fVEMLbszzuZXefL1zbnlfOvO8wlg_GCK/s320/Minack+at+night.jpg" border="0" /></a>The play showing that night was Cinderella and despite it being a children's play, I'm never to old for a fairytale. We ended up sitting next to the family of the actress who played Cinderella. Immediately to my left was Nanna who came prepared with shortbread biscuits and fruit pastilles. All throughout the play she kept insisting that Davina and I eat because we had travelled so far. I think perhaps she thought that we had flown in from Sydney that evening just for the 7 o'clock performance! She was an absolutely lovely lady and made me miss my Grandma very much. She spoke so lovingly of her grand-daughter and was eagerly anticipating her wedding that Autumn. But it was Cinderella's dad who brought a glisten to my eye. At the end of the performance he stood and gave the loudest, most raucous applause and a standing ovation to his daughter. I can't be sure but I think he may have been the instigator of the beginning of a Mexican wave too! </span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvEbtdUI99AHlHAinoaIA-oNyiHAt1X7l9e2OruVekre9VrrFY0B8xYuDfX3c9DWsb4jO8nYIXIdKTr1Z7NU5qd7FyxOAQ_QNaehZIcLiFku53jrMBv72YnI1pVWtip7_51p8BbJvIkqb/s1600-h/Monkeys.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256977760797610898" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvEbtdUI99AHlHAinoaIA-oNyiHAt1X7l9e2OruVekre9VrrFY0B8xYuDfX3c9DWsb4jO8nYIXIdKTr1Z7NU5qd7FyxOAQ_QNaehZIcLiFku53jrMBv72YnI1pVWtip7_51p8BbJvIkqb/s320/Monkeys.jpg" border="0" /></a>After negotiating the mega hill down to the bus stop we boarded the bus back to Penzance and our B&B room (complete with hanging stuffed monkey from the ceiling - we think it was a child's room). It was well after midnight by the time we reached "home" and we both crashed into an immediate Cinderella filled slumber.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Having visited Michael St Mount, drunk at the pub, walked along the main street and hot footing it to the Minack theatre I think it was safe to say we had seen Penzance. Whilst devouring an ice-cream and watching the ships docking and unloading their goods in the harbour I couldn't help feeling proud of the fact that I had made it to the southern most part of England...or had I?</span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-83815435644771316612008-07-22T12:10:00.000-07:002008-07-22T12:18:39.734-07:00Spur of the moment memories of gold<div align="justify">I had an awesome time last night and I didn't even have to travel further than 200m from my house. First up, I spent a good day at Play Group at the school I have just finished teaching at. I left with a very negative outlook but a nice day with 10 kids of varying ages has given me a little positive influence. Then I came home and walked to Sainsbury's with Andy, somehow convincing him to cook me dinner on the way, which was an absolute bonus because I was just going to Sainsbury's for a bottle of wine. Then had a laugh on the way back reciting old 12th Man cricket jokes. After dinner, Vanessa, Andy I took our glasses of wine and the Boules set Vic gave me for my 27th birthday to the Common at the end of the street and we played a few games of Boules. Vanessa, being Vanessa, decided to make the game a little bit more interesting and added a new rule that the bowler needed sing a couple of lines of a cheesy 90s pop song as they threw their ball and the other 2 had to guess what song it was from. May sound dodgy to you, but I have to say that it was a fantastic and relaxing, but most of all, enjoyable evening. Certainly something I am going to remember with a huge smile on my face for the rest of my life as a "London moment". :)</div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-61035690740469019312008-07-12T06:31:00.000-07:002008-07-12T10:24:29.049-07:00On my way to St Ives...<div align="justify"><div><div><div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwGKZBVsXq0_wsh2tGd6Z3HVm69F7njAN46EeB73SjIuQTra1sKjuuw4lOFRfufRONFxNjDRfrMvg5_q8r3wWRPsWVYzeDfZ-kRXqfY6lkXE5w4NjbTJU64HxRBUafhbmqHFhNDC6396l6/s1600-h/crutches.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222125264299637746" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwGKZBVsXq0_wsh2tGd6Z3HVm69F7njAN46EeB73SjIuQTra1sKjuuw4lOFRfufRONFxNjDRfrMvg5_q8r3wWRPsWVYzeDfZ-kRXqfY6lkXE5w4NjbTJU64HxRBUafhbmqHFhNDC6396l6/s320/crutches.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'm currently sporting the latest in steel grey hospital issue crutch fashion as I have managed to do some damage to the ligaments in my right foot. It is now twice the size it should be and I am house bound because I am slower on crutches than a tortoise on slow motion replay. As a result I thought I would procrastinate no longer about blogging my trip to Cornwall and the Isles of Scilly during the May school holidays.<br /></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I found myself in the unusual position of actually having some money to spend at the same time as the school holidays decended and so spent an agonising four days trying to choose a destination. I finally settled on Los Angeles as I could get a great deal to fly there and back (under 400 quid) and I really wanted to see my friend Rachael who is living there at the moment. Unfortunately Rach was not going to be there as she was heading away for the memorial day long weekend.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvVLjnhjNb1slLfLNhNFPtDufUbWBOD-BOa7m2ow8iQyT3qWaBuYReWONACB9zv4lm7UkFas0g6wEjSI5SulP-V90WFRFODB_DpA8SDNnrL2ytPsTzfUxJhK95U5SAy7BrUdMbFY3L6ySo/s1600-h/Torquay+beachside.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222131348167724754" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvVLjnhjNb1slLfLNhNFPtDufUbWBOD-BOa7m2ow8iQyT3qWaBuYReWONACB9zv4lm7UkFas0g6wEjSI5SulP-V90WFRFODB_DpA8SDNnrL2ytPsTzfUxJhK95U5SAy7BrUdMbFY3L6ySo/s320/Torquay+beachside.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Instead of boarding a US bound flight I changed my mind completely found myself standing at London Paddington Train Station on Monday morning buying a one way ticket to Torquay in Cornwall. The South West of England was the one area I had not yet discovered and since I had a week and some coin to splurge on I boarded the first train I could. Turns out it was meant to be as I made a call to Davina who was camping in Devon. Her camping adventure had been a wash out so she headed to Torquay too and we planned to rendezvous at 1300hrs.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Torquay is a very hip and happening place with lots to do...if you are over 65. There is a beach and a pier but even though it was school holidays the whole place was like a ghost town. Even the carnival that had set up its tents in the park was deserted. We wandered around the town and stopped in at some old pubs that really highlight how much "pubbing" is a grand British institution. We ate our weight in food at the oldest pub in Torquay, The Jolly Roger, and Davina still raves about the steak!</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi088YvGdauzy9cPnRBF6FBm8v_jiBrG4N_7OpplXwKZxUI25RCqhIvUo2DpsDgBHSEOMQWNW2mD5mM0birFkdPiZt2MtBS_cqdYsqegK7yL-WEDSSKqW4RQoZrhd8W3YwIvkGs3GfwY7sI/s1600-h/Davina+and+Devonshire+tea.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222133828922125970" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi088YvGdauzy9cPnRBF6FBm8v_jiBrG4N_7OpplXwKZxUI25RCqhIvUo2DpsDgBHSEOMQWNW2mD5mM0birFkdPiZt2MtBS_cqdYsqegK7yL-WEDSSKqW4RQoZrhd8W3YwIvkGs3GfwY7sI/s320/Davina+and+Devonshire+tea.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Every year when I was a kid my Mum, brother, Grandma and I would go for a winter holiday to the Blue Mountains. My grandmother would always insist that we have a Devonshire Tea (scones, cream, jam + cup of tea) at one of the small cafes that line the main street in Katoomba. Since I was in Devon I thought it would be a great travesty if I didn't at least sit down once and eat a Cream Tea, as they are called here, in her honour. Davina had already sussed out a great little place called "The Tea Kettle" and so before heading to the train station to continue to our next destination we sat down to eat the most enormous scones I have seen in ages slathered with jam and cream and followed by some tried and true English Breakfast tea. Sure, they weren't flowerpot scones but these were so much better. They were true Devonshire scones in a Cream Tea in Devon itself.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirwsGQ0fvhzLv6eSmMW50liqUIE6eBICFhwiyGhCud5FiE-80SNsYajZAtqIz7_K7LTYhXmX5DBnO3kDfKRvmHqRhIMYnTUJo709KPfpMoCY4TuAfKvsnmbGRloDml_tHJ2fYCFg0sMK7e/s1600-h/Train+to+St++Ives.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222138154793615394" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirwsGQ0fvhzLv6eSmMW50liqUIE6eBICFhwiyGhCud5FiE-80SNsYajZAtqIz7_K7LTYhXmX5DBnO3kDfKRvmHqRhIMYnTUJo709KPfpMoCY4TuAfKvsnmbGRloDml_tHJ2fYCFg0sMK7e/s320/Train+to+St++Ives.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Davina and I met in Shepherds Bush, London through our mutual friend Simon. She grew up in Turramurra and I grew up in Terrey Hills but it wasn't until we were thousands of miles from home did we become friends. When consulting the map to decide on our next stop, we found that if we caught the train for a few hours and then changed for a coastal train we would be able to visit St Ives - the real one. I went to high school in St. Ives in Sydney and Turramurra is the next suburb along from it. It <strong><em>had</em></strong> to be our next stop. And we were rewarded greatly for our choice too. St.Ives gave us our first glimpses of sunlight, white sandy beaches and the smell of salt in the air.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz5gzoftllovo6mwg818iiZpld-Fjztyq4Pg2ICqfPm5hzW3DDeqo62RrUmWGhmhf8slsp41UrzFeJc8Jzjj8DYdjgmdunkEoiHepUMb7ufzyk6i7OiekIHsuQIRfRjLb9dJgMm8hhkJOW/s1600-h/St+Ives.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222139654219401842" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz5gzoftllovo6mwg818iiZpld-Fjztyq4Pg2ICqfPm5hzW3DDeqo62RrUmWGhmhf8slsp41UrzFeJc8Jzjj8DYdjgmdunkEoiHepUMb7ufzyk6i7OiekIHsuQIRfRjLb9dJgMm8hhkJOW/s320/St+Ives.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I really love the English St. Ives. It is a small coastal port that is nestled into the edge of England. It's the kind of place that, in my fantasies, I could settle down and teach at the local primary school, raise kids and enjoy the English "life". It is never going to happen but for the moments when I close my eyes and dream, it feels like a possibility. </span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The tide retreats during the middle of the day leaving many small boats stranded for the afternoon whilst children scream with delight as they use them for hide and seek places. Tourists slurp at dripping ice creams as locals weave their way through the obstacles of baby buggies and discarded buckets and spades to get to their intended destinations. People can be heard laughing and chatting in the beer gardens of the seaside pubs and the fish and chip joints make a roaring profit from gullible visitors.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmV6LzupbuHtryXQBz7Qtg1_bR27JGy86WzLSBv__zXuniXtchABFTMn6b_YrWLqsKe3DjyWEMKDzI2I4i8Z_hX6ye9vgyURxA7bYxC9Pi_ThiYY7IViwhgtgFJwtE6Ab3OnxQsuycBU6q/s1600-h/Davina+and+frisbee+boys.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222172004200030850" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmV6LzupbuHtryXQBz7Qtg1_bR27JGy86WzLSBv__zXuniXtchABFTMn6b_YrWLqsKe3DjyWEMKDzI2I4i8Z_hX6ye9vgyURxA7bYxC9Pi_ThiYY7IViwhgtgFJwtE6Ab3OnxQsuycBU6q/s320/Davina+and+frisbee+boys.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">St. Ives is an ambling town - a place where you spend your time wandering up and down the tiny cobbled streets poking your head in and out of tiny shops that have stood there for centuries. You buy postcards from an old fashioned newsagency that can only accommodate 4 people at a time. Ice creams are sold from a small cart that is wheeled along the promenade by a man who looks as old as the weary wooden boards that have weathered many storms. Davina found a warm and sunny spot on the beach to read her book and was not there 10 minutes before she was approached by two little boys wanting her to play frisbee. So we spent the next hour of so throwing the frisbee to and fro. </span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It's almost as if time stands still in St. Ives. In times gone by children were confident in approaching strangers to play games on the beach or to help them build sandcastles. Unfortunately now days you can't trust anyone. It would be a nightmare to look up and see your child walking down the beach with a random person they picked up on the sand. But it seemed normal and safe in St Ives throwing that frisbee back and forth with these kids and you can't help but smiling and appreciating that innocence and trust is not completely banished to yesteryear.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegkLOdY1ITdhVjZjhyphenhyphenTjcO-GFpOmuHx-G6N1Hq9lNnu5gWF-N2WRo5IE4yZ2VpJ93ttmRyIzTTt2n9AqlQn6j1Drqfkzjp0VboQlLFDfKw2RcAkRXXZDu_pOj50aMdPJyjBLJKZshBb3C/s1600-h/B+at+St.+Ives.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222175815807664498" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegkLOdY1ITdhVjZjhyphenhyphenTjcO-GFpOmuHx-G6N1Hq9lNnu5gWF-N2WRo5IE4yZ2VpJ93ttmRyIzTTt2n9AqlQn6j1Drqfkzjp0VboQlLFDfKw2RcAkRXXZDu_pOj50aMdPJyjBLJKZshBb3C/s320/B+at+St.+Ives.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">For dinner Davina and I stumbled upon this awesome restaurant that is situated on top of the first row of shops back from the harbour. I think it was called Coast but I can't quite remember. It was super cheap and the food was amazing. The owner is this delightful pregnant lady who thinks nothing of stopping by your table to discuss your travel plans and anything else you wish to chat about. At the end of the meal they bring you the bill and a comment card for you to let the staff know what you think of the dining experience you had. We ticked all the excellent boxes and wrote about how pleased we were to have sampled not only good food but wonderful customer service and that they should advertise in more visual places so that more people could experience what we had. Just as we were leaving we heard the wait staff talking about the comment not knowing it came from us and they seemed so proud, not of themselves but of the fact that their little restaurant had made an impact on someone. Call me sentimental, but when was the last time that happened in "Here's your hat, there's the door" London? </span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">St. Ives did have an impact on us. So much so that we stayed an extra night. But, as much as I wanted to stay forever, we were drawn to search for pirates and wenches in Penzance and so found ourselves bound for the train station the next morning... </span></div></div></div></div><br /></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-19900749992699542172008-06-29T04:58:00.000-07:002008-06-29T05:17:50.040-07:00Good things happen to those who get screwed over.<div><div><div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-JdXHIoBpwcOkNEfxCdLl_vgOxq9OvLhc9JZWCLMp5goR96d-rFeeVX18tfP6J_DmymjKG6wDo55NZFWTSueZUTmaSq4Cb4Z6yzts2i7decrsHOIL-sRqnJgrkDJr04dR83G4sz-IOZb/s1600-h/On+the+wall.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217274507636682338" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-JdXHIoBpwcOkNEfxCdLl_vgOxq9OvLhc9JZWCLMp5goR96d-rFeeVX18tfP6J_DmymjKG6wDo55NZFWTSueZUTmaSq4Cb4Z6yzts2i7decrsHOIL-sRqnJgrkDJr04dR83G4sz-IOZb/s320/On+the+wall.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This week was totally screwed up but it is a boring story and I have no desire to retell it plus I really should have known better than to go to Wimbledon on "British Day". :)</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But good things happen after all and when I answered my phone even though I didn't recognise the number (they are usually Carphone Warehouse telemarketers) I was rewarded big time. Rachael was calling from work to ask me if I wanted Matt's extra ticket to go and see Bon Jovi for their second to last concert on their European "All roads lead to London" tour. Awesome! <span style="font-size:85%;color:#000099;"><em>(Photo - Me, Rach, Matt and Alex)</em></span></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUCCX5fpvpvI0c77UnsaNVP4n-r79SXLXyv23H3RZF6tmvWduAQLsaJdfWCp_z6DEs1Mc_iN2yO9aStAw2mKi6a3yR5T4f8aUcRxa2VizY7u1AgPcLBUZL3Gi61cuyAwDG9PLWlCpzk1In/s1600-h/Little+Bon+Jovi+love.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217274117954648786" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUCCX5fpvpvI0c77UnsaNVP4n-r79SXLXyv23H3RZF6tmvWduAQLsaJdfWCp_z6DEs1Mc_iN2yO9aStAw2mKi6a3yR5T4f8aUcRxa2VizY7u1AgPcLBUZL3Gi61cuyAwDG9PLWlCpzk1In/s320/Little+Bon+Jovi+love.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I can't claim that I am a Bon Jovi supporter from way back. I like a handful of their songs but couldn't name you more than 3 at most. However, I was totally impressed by the fact that they remained on stage for more than 2 hours straight! And I am now converter to being a fan (I even bought the t-shirt to prove it!)</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPlzSSilfkiwsYDVC0K7TWFqyb-bYnDBqbxmnLuv_EnnUlQT-k3j-TtLkk_zA702YBUMdTfDdggApv_ACY7hpv5edEB5JACtogWYMN1kuzOdYP_YxPnwZxAn3v5dmSG7Tfp4DgWj-eZzNP/s1600-h/Alex,+Matt+and+Alex.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">One other thing I did come away with was an added appreciation of being tall. I know I whinge about the fact that British bus seats are too close together and that I have to pay extra for airline tickets to get more leg room because I don't fit in the normal ones, but being tall really came into its own on Friday night as I could see everything even from the back of the "pit". I had to feel for Rach, who's no taller than my shoulder at the best of times! ;)</span></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217274936745980626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb5GyWydNXjzqc4M1qPA6kppLsq8egKAvB1QJ-kNvStnw3R6rb26eCW2zcUCVV8SO2FkGvY3AVF20PlZggv60fjqoMQ9sl6ooclnSPW8Zuk7vBf8bwuOFKgiQnrIRI4CKwfsXuaC9_-wks/s320/Rach+and+the+stage.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217275098416153570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwN3fqEhE4uTnsQvA24pzXGQgW5zq-dctSJJgKCKBofwL2Q76KOr1sFnv4Ev91uFQ4BS8BMwqbln-DmbB36MlEKxRNl44FfCgjKWJojutyJX-5ePgKs_4asv9h6Pj5Udr6xAMkxzuzULdx/s320/Gay+Bon+Jovi+Love.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217275261789462994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGVXVdVx91aBowRTcqskFdFCdfz1cwxqsDnSVcNmZcGvYiqYyK7blEwQmrJOpiUv35_EoSZo2073TMWsTARP8JZ1TiLB5qeDZZwfweK8xuRweiwH46RZcIcgefC7kyLWNDNVbtStweegum/s320/Guitar+solo.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217275442183608498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPUb2VulfswVCkfyK24KRoIwh8VbkpQvZgSoOr1-q4HuD8nE2EbzrhME4A_i6Q6kDv7Q0p4rTgpNdAUOqnTRnhhvm0Vs9DoW57P4dE8I0IXDLAtsD887aZhbAZPTpuxkFz3sqvXe-RX7C/s320/Jon+Bon+Jovi.jpg" border="0" /></div></div></div></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-32170747782765476892008-06-22T10:36:00.000-07:002008-06-22T12:30:22.824-07:00Royal Ascot<div align="justify"><div><div><div><div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcq05XWNgYU7tOhb31aGbfWFNyIq5PbjySc3MPDhVIVX80KaUDS1CJ9g_3LryOIoIs9pSTzMkRIEqROCQ3UKupoDA0DD_f_Y8kZOfhUrrh3BGbzn9G8FhpDHaUG2yiuiffUbsansA0JgL5/s1600-h/Train+Stn.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214767893169136962" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcq05XWNgYU7tOhb31aGbfWFNyIq5PbjySc3MPDhVIVX80KaUDS1CJ9g_3LryOIoIs9pSTzMkRIEqROCQ3UKupoDA0DD_f_Y8kZOfhUrrh3BGbzn9G8FhpDHaUG2yiuiffUbsansA0JgL5/s320/Train+Stn.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My posts are a bit out of order here as I still have to blog about my trip through Cornwall and onto the Isles of Scilly but I went to Royal Ascot yesterday and since that is at the front of my mind I'm going to start there and work backwards and sideways later. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em><span style="color:#000099;">(Photo right - Ascot Train Station)</span></em><br /></span><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There is something synonymous with England and the horse races. Maybe it is because their Crown Princess looks like one or simply the fact that aristocracy has traditionally treated their horses better than their household staff, I'm not sure. But I am not one to argue with an age old tradition (*cough, cough*) and when I found myself staring at the word "Ascot" on my "Things I need to do before I go home" list I knew I needed to don the hat and frock and head south.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgELTJY7YoDfJ9aU5N86m3oOUXaK2cpUD_JPsFU198uJ_ZWJVm4TEUonrsIM6XUvrjyGn_D4X6OJqme6HdJwrx-7BW8q-9GfyRXd0RLSwetPQLOeHDwPJ2yDwoBI8MJjDd09mOP9IS7kbc5/s1600-h/Girls+sml.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214768195592452866" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgELTJY7YoDfJ9aU5N86m3oOUXaK2cpUD_JPsFU198uJ_ZWJVm4TEUonrsIM6XUvrjyGn_D4X6OJqme6HdJwrx-7BW8q-9GfyRXd0RLSwetPQLOeHDwPJ2yDwoBI8MJjDd09mOP9IS7kbc5/s320/Girls+sml.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Finding said frock and hat was a mission unto itself. I have all these beautiful outifts at home in Sydney but didn't think to pack one when moving here as it would have meant forsaking my third pair of themals, my second jumper and my nineteenth scarf! :) Luciky for me, my friend Fran is a seasoned frock shopper and she had me up at Debenhams, Monsoon and Oasis on Oxford Street trying on dress after dress after dress, at the risk of great financial disaster. Who knew that a piece of fluff masquerading as a hat could set you back more than the national debt of a third world country? They won't this week though, since I can smell a hat sale in the air. In the end we were successful in the great dress hunt and I walked away with a blue dress that didn't set me back too many £££. I wasn't so successful in the hat department and had to make a mercy dash over to Clapham Junction, down to Wandsworth Town and back up to Clapham Junction at 8pm on Friday night. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#000099;"><em>(Photo above - Serena, Pippa and Mel)</em></span></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho7uAnGW_EKDwPzXi_XLH3cwO1SKzA6CKAogMRV6AdYAs1_z12LF-eU5pJKWf-oZ5RZXbmSO7naK24ujSBGavc-d4TFPaklyIoNxkM3V0NDW29OBVW41AH2_WfZkENj8lGK_lAv8mNpk7p/s1600-h/V+and+Me+Sml.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Pye0DoUO08QMoCdEgg1jQCPPqJz-L3RMmmPDmez-bAdLsHsb3-pM9bbmidjNkg_PBEYK8GmDxDYWiNrTPAXB8hML96rgSX1kqtHN5l4Wt9qmeHqyJ76Ltq16PVDeaBkdnjwucmshjZya/s1600-h/Winner+2+sml.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214785791517158546" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Pye0DoUO08QMoCdEgg1jQCPPqJz-L3RMmmPDmez-bAdLsHsb3-pM9bbmidjNkg_PBEYK8GmDxDYWiNrTPAXB8hML96rgSX1kqtHN5l4Wt9qmeHqyJ76Ltq16PVDeaBkdnjwucmshjZya/s320/Winner+2+sml.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My flatmate Vanessa and I got dressed and flocked with the other frocked up people to Clapham Junction to catch the train out to Ascot early on Saturday morning. By sheer luck Davina, Rachael, Michelle, Kylie and Angela got held back from the first train and we found them on the platform. We also found Mel, Serena and Pippa standing in the croissant shop on the platform too. The next train was ours for the taking and although Pippa fainted due to the sardine like conditions, we made it to Ascot 45 minutes later. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#000099;"><em>(Photo right - Vanessa with her winnings and Barry in his "helpful to spot him" orange jumper behind her.)</em></span></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLxUPTtYHJYN5nV-PZyOaQeEaw9XpihQ6qoBNLSYo3ok8IsKD0_p0VWDEwcypJaHaYBqjefwBDb430hIZq2tbkTk9M-ziBvZwlbqwrE4vcnm9UvJB1Y5BnHMulRj64Ow8iQ52Xt6wjsaHf/s1600-h/Kaddy+and+Me+Sml.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214785431596029858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLxUPTtYHJYN5nV-PZyOaQeEaw9XpihQ6qoBNLSYo3ok8IsKD0_p0VWDEwcypJaHaYBqjefwBDb430hIZq2tbkTk9M-ziBvZwlbqwrE4vcnm9UvJB1Y5BnHMulRj64Ow8iQ52Xt6wjsaHf/s320/Kaddy+and+Me+Sml.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I could have honestly sat at the train station and watched the ladies walk passed in their outfits all day. It was really interesting to see what people were wearing and whether I recognised the hats or dresses from my own hunting and gathering. Although I did see the g-string of a rather large girl in an extremely short white dress from the underneath and it put me off the whole frock watching from that point on. It was an "Ah my eyes, my eyes!" moment. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#000099;"><em>(Photo left - Me and Karen)</em></span></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Getting into the Silver Ring, where we had tickets for, was a hike and a half, but when the whole crowd is getting into the swing of things, you can't help but be pulled along into the jovial mood of the start of the day. The men, in their top hats and tails, were very striking and kept us amused with their thoughts on what the top hat could come in handy for later as the day progressed and we managed to dodge the cheese that had fallen out of someone's picnic basket on the way up to the "Top of the Hill".</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimCH3AOfhv6sux3W5QSIhar5SHCmhalwMb6VwKN2tH-s0Qqjm5rRw90ZzgjtvuEjfHPRqiYf0n0hx8N3pVQtE1wGRzynpN23_CUA1pX13DPV9ATygC-qFfCNxeF4PLKiKKA9YjnLFj38_Z/s1600-h/Kylie+laughing+small.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214786531526403762" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimCH3AOfhv6sux3W5QSIhar5SHCmhalwMb6VwKN2tH-s0Qqjm5rRw90ZzgjtvuEjfHPRqiYf0n0hx8N3pVQtE1wGRzynpN23_CUA1pX13DPV9ATygC-qFfCNxeF4PLKiKKA9YjnLFj38_Z/s320/Kylie+laughing+small.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Kylie was a forward thinker and brought along some picnic rugs and although it threatened to rain the most it actually dropped was a few spits here and there. I had a bet on 3 out of the 5 races but only managed bring home some £ in the last race - the Queen Alexandra race - when I backed the winner and second place. Rach had better luck and so did Kylie, who was celebrating her birthday so it made for a nice birthday present. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#000099;"><em>(Photo left - Kylie)</em></span></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhETNWy-MITe9iSA3xGZgPdrDVNFfcP6iB6aogUzLYWHG3EHEo1DgIDP3ZUP3FEF34yojvjbWdqoCdhZSMSpMbP1vuQXYOYBpBKZSsIciLv4W0glwhR1AJ_jPEUsiG3EvegQXk7JCza9R0y/s1600-h/W+and+T+small.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214786700777104722" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhETNWy-MITe9iSA3xGZgPdrDVNFfcP6iB6aogUzLYWHG3EHEo1DgIDP3ZUP3FEF34yojvjbWdqoCdhZSMSpMbP1vuQXYOYBpBKZSsIciLv4W0glwhR1AJ_jPEUsiG3EvegQXk7JCza9R0y/s320/W+and+T+small.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There was about 15 of us all up. 14 girls and Will, who I must say, probably thought he was in heaven and had the most fun out of all of us. We spent the afternoon drinking champagne with strawberries and eating our picnic lunch in between putting a few bets on. I kept going back to the same bookie who was nice enough to explain what to do to bet i.e. pick a number and give him money (a MENSA student I am not). <span style="font-size:85%;color:#000099;"><em>(Photo right - Will and Thesea)</em></span></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU5GeR5aU-zeo0WEtRApJAv1edWGDibsdzrIu-RRKWGqpgJbGEk8m3CyFSl8NdRX2L8w_dNW_sY35_4DSU2xXfdLp0VVak0j3b0XZh9Ijj9Qnk1MTn69a0PoCajCVHVlLE2cz-mkaBZR-R/s1600-h/Passed+Out+sml.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214787396221750898" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU5GeR5aU-zeo0WEtRApJAv1edWGDibsdzrIu-RRKWGqpgJbGEk8m3CyFSl8NdRX2L8w_dNW_sY35_4DSU2xXfdLp0VVak0j3b0XZh9Ijj9Qnk1MTn69a0PoCajCVHVlLE2cz-mkaBZR-R/s320/Passed+Out+sml.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Surprisingly, the day went really quickly. As with all things you look forward to, you tend to over do the excitement stakes and it takes it's toll. Both Davina and Rachael had a quick kip on the lawn but we couldn't take too much of the mickey as we soon saw the races "bogan of the day" passed out on the grass on the way back to the train station. As with most rowdy incidents, he will find himself the subject of many a Facebook photo with people standing over him and posing in lewd acts. It was hilarious. Especially when his girlfriend saw what was going on and launched into a tirade of abuse at the crowd. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#000099;"><em>(Photo - Passed out guy on the way to the train station).</em></span></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To top the day off, Vanessa and I stopped in for Thai takeaway on the way home and we finished off our Saturday watching dodgy 90s films in our PJs. What more could you ask for?</span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-33992992478014684182008-06-04T14:45:00.000-07:002008-06-04T14:51:12.958-07:00What have I come to?Here's some food for my thought...<br /><br />I have just finished having dinner with my flatmates. We were talking about what happened today at work. Vanessa is going to work on a photo shoot, Katie is working out visas and KK is working with more numbers but when it got to my turn I said "Nothing much happening. It was an okay day. Oh but one of my kids sent another one to hospital". That in itself is worrying but you know what the truly disturbing thing is? I actually didn't think it was really a big deal, like it is normal, an everyday occurance.<br /><br />I think there is something very wrong with that. What have London schools done to me?Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-25400790479776966402008-04-26T03:30:00.001-07:002008-04-26T03:33:15.155-07:00Farewell Skeet<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ILpHJw6q7LlfrnT6tHj2ga94_3DrcFohlG1c8r26SXeoh_-CFyt1oGjJx_3s1ztYa6Y5_XkHfPfD0wsIQvCFwErkKf8n_cc84x4PNWX5gPqxkqAa1U8uS15ChHRVXnTs782aEqG_4Eks/s1600-h/Group+shot.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5193499734653746098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ILpHJw6q7LlfrnT6tHj2ga94_3DrcFohlG1c8r26SXeoh_-CFyt1oGjJx_3s1ztYa6Y5_XkHfPfD0wsIQvCFwErkKf8n_cc84x4PNWX5gPqxkqAa1U8uS15ChHRVXnTs782aEqG_4Eks/s320/Group+shot.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My flatmate Skeet has gone back home to Perth to help his Dad out on the farm. He'll be back but not for a while. So we had a house dinner to send him off in style.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Photo - (going clockwise) Charlie (in red), Andrea, Katie, Vanessa, KK, Skeet and Me.</em></span></div><br /><div></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-6492393765043384852008-04-23T12:34:00.000-07:002008-04-23T14:48:32.954-07:00The things that happened in April.<div align="justify"><div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjodKDftPsIz0zTeSHAWgOuncne6dLwwF6o2fst0CPPIo3uslQxtdRni_k2hoBU18hREdOmeq5Bj1yJRMQ4Thbi159_RMzzYW3gYRmBaqmRhaFv3IPDFywhzUbo_TODzzfCv1y_CE1jgjQ_/s1600-h/Snow+school.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192552518271318850" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjodKDftPsIz0zTeSHAWgOuncne6dLwwF6o2fst0CPPIo3uslQxtdRni_k2hoBU18hREdOmeq5Bj1yJRMQ4Thbi159_RMzzYW3gYRmBaqmRhaFv3IPDFywhzUbo_TODzzfCv1y_CE1jgjQ_/s320/Snow+school.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">April, for the most part was full of me procrastinating about doing things and then not really doing much at all. It did snow on the first Sunday of the holidays, so I walked through the Common. See my earlier post for more on that.</span><br /><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I did do a school club day on the first Friday because they didn't have anyone else to do it. It was a swimming day (that would be why) so I walked 21 kids to the bus stop (20 mins) then took the bus (25 mins) got off the bus and walked to the pool (20 mins) then got them changed (30 mins + extra whinging) and then swam with them for 1.5 hours then repeated the whole process backwards for the trip home. But I actually had a fabulous time and it was interesting to see how the group of mixed ages from 12 to 4 interacted together. I walked with Hannah, aged 5, who speaks Japanese, English and French fluently and insisted on informing me about where she "came from" (think reproduction here people). She tells me, and I quote, "I'm only little so I am still learning..." I didn't take any photos because, as the trip wasn't actually a school function, it was illegal - to take photos, not go swimming.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRW7qBqUHSnV2j5ZhtGWUe-bY8ldnLO77gWwUv-L3lE0o465YSkyBjO5PBd0mJwpzDi9bcIVrUOFhNCjsxgiDyB1hVc8C2Eqeg4WtKwVjisJpVHCOdr5Z1MBB37oCAsbR5N4J8kLf4IIh4/s1600-h/Dr+Who.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6cu3pCduZIlYGW8AvtV40D9-zqndYqRGq8TMCy50OCMZj0HhdL8oE_UE4E_4YgWwdtH24M14y5_VRawYTpjGVO3Cw9orQcAUVMJr2Ktv56HOH9P6I54CfEHIlhsUV_-EUfiJtMtyNjPoQ/s1600-h/Who+025.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192560060233890722" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6cu3pCduZIlYGW8AvtV40D9-zqndYqRGq8TMCy50OCMZj0HhdL8oE_UE4E_4YgWwdtH24M14y5_VRawYTpjGVO3Cw9orQcAUVMJr2Ktv56HOH9P6I54CfEHIlhsUV_-EUfiJtMtyNjPoQ/s320/Who+025.jpg" border="0" /></a>For my birthday last year I was in New York City climbing the Empire State Building. That is very hard to beat and since I stayed in London this year I decided to do the most strangest and weirdest thing I could find. So...I went to...THE DOCTOR WHO EXHIBITION! Surprisingly, I actually enjoyed it. I'd only ever seen one Doctor Who episode (the week before) since it returned to the BBC. I used to watch when I was a kid and get scared silly. It wasn't illegal to take photos of that. Will post some more of them up soon but here is the Face of Boe.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNtvYcKrDDoOTgZ1fQQe6U0l9EpOtjfXMQ2dELf1h866JdqjiIxBLuxBVis-G1uaBEwxoiVdOh2t9_VIUWa24vaTx1KF8zgpbjYswEM104Ec6cY4DPZHIqiFJ_oYWvLHcIxryBOnxxNWFg/s1600-h/Sarah+and+B.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192552728724716370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNtvYcKrDDoOTgZ1fQQe6U0l9EpOtjfXMQ2dELf1h866JdqjiIxBLuxBVis-G1uaBEwxoiVdOh2t9_VIUWa24vaTx1KF8zgpbjYswEM104Ec6cY4DPZHIqiFJ_oYWvLHcIxryBOnxxNWFg/s320/Sarah+and+B.jpg" border="0" /></a>Then after a very quiet second week, see earlier post about procrastinating about the dishwasher, this last weekend was pretty jam packed. Friday night I went to the movies with my flatmates Charlie and Andrea as well as Sarah, my friend I met in Scandinavia last year who was staying with us. Saturday I helped Sarah move to Standford Brook where she was going to stay before heading off on her Top Deck training tour. Sarah was training with Contiki but they asked her to leave when they got to Prague after 45 days because she was "too nice". What a crock! Anyway, Top Deck Tours snapped her up and she is now traipsing around Europe once again.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbNzep5vkeRSQ5cywCHBKJiz1y0_xlZGJp6hLe-P5yiw1re76phGGS6zYad80Asp5bLSzg5TRpyK5WHf5nJTyVrg46Dk9kD2GaFgCbPdnaCJvKGiv2tv0pci2L5RgsrpQfLcJyGijwUDBU/s1600-h/Germans.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192552990717721442" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbNzep5vkeRSQ5cywCHBKJiz1y0_xlZGJp6hLe-P5yiw1re76phGGS6zYad80Asp5bLSzg5TRpyK5WHf5nJTyVrg46Dk9kD2GaFgCbPdnaCJvKGiv2tv0pci2L5RgsrpQfLcJyGijwUDBU/s320/Germans.jpg" border="0" /></a>Saturday night was spent at Rachael's house party. When I first met Davina she lived at 62 Minford Gardens a.k.a "62MG". She has since moved out, but when Rach was looking for a new place to live a room was available there and she moved in. 62MG is the location of many great house parties and so, Deevs passed the hostess tag onto Rach. Saturday night saw Rach's first 62MG party and I went and hung out with Rachael, Jan (Rach's boyfriend) and his German friends visiting from Hanover. We did manage to have a very lively and interesting conversation about Inspector Rex (a German show shown on SBS TV at home). Oh and I did know about their Prince who is married to Princess Caroline of Monaco. But they didn't. Oh, that and we chatted about hats! Theresa is a milliner! I didn't realise people still made hats by hand. I thought that they were all done by machines now. Der me!</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfmVzHNcd4N5NGKX0GTty3YXFy7QThybQoKKWjpz1lrqjstJDGbTn0yNb4QZ5Csa3UjJVnSJRHi-9kX_DlQnHZDK59MYGn_hktv81dUNmFihruq4jUGcNynl5ySaswKPSdD_P143oVZyDL/s1600-h/B,+Nic,+Charlie+and+Andrea.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192553312840268658" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfmVzHNcd4N5NGKX0GTty3YXFy7QThybQoKKWjpz1lrqjstJDGbTn0yNb4QZ5Csa3UjJVnSJRHi-9kX_DlQnHZDK59MYGn_hktv81dUNmFihruq4jUGcNynl5ySaswKPSdD_P143oVZyDL/s320/B,+Nic,+Charlie+and+Andrea.jpg" border="0" /></a>On Sunday I met a few friends at the Revolutions Bar in Richmond for some beverages and brunch by the river. It was lovely going back to West London and spending some time at a bar next to the river like I used to when I lived over there with Karen. Once again I was blown away by the fact that half the people there I didn't actually know at this time last year. Katie, Charlie and Andrea came along too, which was great.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix2nokk4ln4j6QLPi0_Kt1Q1AqsCkMQ70MRRQKQE4TiwMqhs6ABF_amsEBPphJqZNLWTr0TiniCPaSQZyVuXfRwoWFdvnOxSvoMsRT31MW_thfKSP7lBO9RNrpuDUqrZB6DVzhCKRsr3AT/s1600-h/TSTurtle.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192553832531311490" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix2nokk4ln4j6QLPi0_Kt1Q1AqsCkMQ70MRRQKQE4TiwMqhs6ABF_amsEBPphJqZNLWTr0TiniCPaSQZyVuXfRwoWFdvnOxSvoMsRT31MW_thfKSP7lBO9RNrpuDUqrZB6DVzhCKRsr3AT/s320/TSTurtle.jpg" border="0" /></a>And then there was Monday. Monday was a back to school. Phew! But no kiddies. We had a Inservice Day where we had to think about what learning means to us and then build it out of willow sticks. My group built a tree complete with leaves and a butterfly. One group made a treasure box with stars in it and another made a hot air balloon. Fran made a stealth turtle. The turtle itself wasn't stealth, rather she wasn't supposed to be making it so had to make it on the sly under the table when the instructor wasn't looking our way. :)</span></div></div></div></div></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-45047819543100447102008-04-17T03:38:00.000-07:002008-04-17T06:00:18.346-07:00Bathrooms 2, Alex 0<div align="justify"><div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY5B1LYQ859uwxL9H3iDS8PxNKhYE0e0VFp1S4o2yu-eRyP2WX2InKNe5ZQHlaMqNMleD0SGF9-_V4AbOIlfI1jWY-SmU_hYVo8lUnoMq9HQiNePZ71Yi9j98aJAKOnopMG0LQTUuh_GMb/s1600-h/Driving+in+the+car.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190175275529004194" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY5B1LYQ859uwxL9H3iDS8PxNKhYE0e0VFp1S4o2yu-eRyP2WX2InKNe5ZQHlaMqNMleD0SGF9-_V4AbOIlfI1jWY-SmU_hYVo8lUnoMq9HQiNePZ71Yi9j98aJAKOnopMG0LQTUuh_GMb/s320/Driving+in+the+car.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'm back to being a bit behind with the blogs. It's school holidays and I am procrastinating about EVERYTHING, from doing the washing to writing my plans for next term, to just going to Sainsbury's to buy food. I am one of those freaky few who hate school holidays. I like to be busy, I like to have purpose and I have neither of those things this week. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Photo - Me and Rach in the car in Londonderry. </em></span></span></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Anyway, so I am now procrastinating about emptying the dishwasher so I thought I would write in my blog about my Easter Road Trip to Northern Ireland with Rachael, Davina and Michelle.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'd been to Northern Ireland before back in 2003 with Rachael G. We'd done a driving trip around the island of Ireland and I actually disliked Northern Ireland immensely. I felt a real connection to the South but the North felt grotty, dirty and a little bit scary. It could have something to do with the fact that a bomb went off in Belfast while we were there at a place we had only visited 90 minutes before hand. Or the massive protests in the main streets. I also felt really, really sad there. Growing up in Australia my best friend in the whole wide world was Christine. She was Prodestant, I was Catholic (I know because in primary school we were separated during scripture time and I was not happy about it). If we had grown up in Northern Ireland, same as we were, same time, just in a different location, we would have been sworn enemies. And that made me so sad. Especially because Christine's friendship still means a lot to me, and there are thousands of young children who miss out on experiencing that over there due to someone long ago being an arse and stubborn about their religion. </span><br /></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7WGWiLTaaW08hS-pfAwMhwkD2ocoP11IY9NqZjeL-oOINRUOEZkc0hWUEP-OoFJndWsElGbS8ylM5DM7-kcFubgph7ofElH2cYmPsnknFEeRNdcc4CmfNozhDca7oRQUtgVDRo3oTzU6N/s1600-h/Davina+and+Rach+in+car.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190178685733037234" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7WGWiLTaaW08hS-pfAwMhwkD2ocoP11IY9NqZjeL-oOINRUOEZkc0hWUEP-OoFJndWsElGbS8ylM5DM7-kcFubgph7ofElH2cYmPsnknFEeRNdcc4CmfNozhDca7oRQUtgVDRo3oTzU6N/s320/Davina+and+Rach+in+car.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So when Davina asked me to come along I was not jumping for joy at seeing Northern Ireland, but I was really keen to have a girlie road trip. I hadn't done a full girlie road trip before. Vic and I had driven around Scotland together but that was just the two of us. This would be 4 chicks in a car driving from London through Wales, catching a ferry across the channel and then pottering around another country. Davina joked that I was asked to go along to be the chauffeur. Turns out I was the only girl over 25 and thus the only person legally allowed to drive a hire car (yay, age has it's benefit finally) and one of only two of us able to drive a manual. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Photo - Davina and Rachael in the back of our road trip vehicle.</em></span></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgatVkLyzNCPUqFTPE8nggPN94pse9gt6wBG9MhyFL_IJfbFlaxUSiTlT0CcwUMSb6cI5lvvMekBIHyHciMY2UOMny91AWe_DEGtcBDdf4FZKQug3q8KW9L1AhVjIS0xpGEeL5mMPUCHJcO/s1600-h/Caenarvon+castle.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190181455986943170" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgatVkLyzNCPUqFTPE8nggPN94pse9gt6wBG9MhyFL_IJfbFlaxUSiTlT0CcwUMSb6cI5lvvMekBIHyHciMY2UOMny91AWe_DEGtcBDdf4FZKQug3q8KW9L1AhVjIS0xpGEeL5mMPUCHJcO/s320/Caenarvon+castle.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Good Friday morning saw me set off on the tube for Heathrow and meeting the others at Terminal 3. We then picked our car up and headed off towards North Wales. North Wales is absolutely beautiful. I really enjoyed seeing the mountains creeping up off the horizon and dotted with snow at their peaks. At about this time we got word that our ferry from Holyhead to Dublin had been cancelled due to high winds and we had been bumped back to the one at 2:45am. So instead of ploughing our way through Wales we meandered instead, stopping at a fabulous pub along the way for lunch and then slowly winding our way up to Holyhead. We had dinner at an Italian restaurant in Caenarvon, right by the castle. By this stage I'd been driving for 10 hours and we needed a break so we drove to the ferry and checked in. Then all four of us tried to catch some shut eye until the ferry boarded. Four people sleeping in a Vauxhall Vectra was a little bit squishy and I kept waking myself afraid that we'd missed the ferry and would be stuck in Wales forever. I needn't have worried. A ferry man came up the rows of cars and banged on the roof shocking us back into the real world. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Photo - Caenarvon Castle.</em></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOm9naMOKgJB9XNaNuSQYhG_cfbpmH-GvPVITarV9h1QOV7nGwHZcQ36ipNxWU6Bd4ta19HNsfpZBshRIOsP5F040kJX3wPik7XZwbS5rg1SGBQHuFkoFtqbRTy6bhZSwebMAm8CK0trD/s1600-h/Sleeping+on+the+Ferry.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190185476076332242" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOm9naMOKgJB9XNaNuSQYhG_cfbpmH-GvPVITarV9h1QOV7nGwHZcQ36ipNxWU6Bd4ta19HNsfpZBshRIOsP5F040kJX3wPik7XZwbS5rg1SGBQHuFkoFtqbRTy6bhZSwebMAm8CK0trD/s320/Sleeping+on+the+Ferry.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The ferry ride across was a bit of a blur. I found a piece of couch and actually managed to sleep through most of the worst as we were tossed from side to side on the rough seas. I did catch myself once about to fall straight onto Deev who was sleeping on the floor beside my bit of couch. Rachael, being tiny and short, managed to squeeze onto two chairs. To this day I don't know where Michelle was. You know how when you fly you can have extreme turbulance? Well we had extreme turbulance on water. The noise of the hull smashing into the huge waves was very freaky. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Photo - Rachael curled up on the ferry chairs and me (the black blob) on the couch.</em></span></span></div><div align="justify"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh10yzCMnv2oM0PwrEc3LSBcCGzFXjq4HnD9IDVgMNghXQSSiCghJlP0oMb1Op8O9WfsEf4I97nEHVeQ1c2p-BDXXk-1JJXjELs1Am_w-yLcHL9MBEDCXvruTMmbmba9b7hOJvUoYJfc_yZ/s1600-h/Rope+Bridge.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190187700869391586" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh10yzCMnv2oM0PwrEc3LSBcCGzFXjq4HnD9IDVgMNghXQSSiCghJlP0oMb1Op8O9WfsEf4I97nEHVeQ1c2p-BDXXk-1JJXjELs1Am_w-yLcHL9MBEDCXvruTMmbmba9b7hOJvUoYJfc_yZ/s320/Rope+Bridge.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">5:30am saw us all loaded back into the car for another big day. We got through Dublin due to Rach's superb navigation skills (I don't do numbers well and all the roads are numbered. I needed a destination, not an easy task when destinations were not clearly labelled) and headed north to Belfast to meet Deev's friend. We then kept driving towards Carrick-e-rede where there is an amazing rope bridge suspended over a huge drop into the roaring sea below. Absolutely amazing location and almost mystical. You get the intense feeling of history as the winds blow the long blades this way and that. Walking ahead of the others gave me the opportunity to "listen". It's almost as if a song was being played across the hills. Complete with me sniffling in time. :) We had to wait about 90 minutes to cross the bridge as there was only so many people allowed on the small fishing island on the other side. 90 minutes in the freezing cold was not very pleasurable and as a result I got really ill. It was only a strong cold but coupled with 1hr sleep and 16hrs of driving at this point I was beginning to think I had reached my limit. I made a bargain with myself though that if I wasn't at the front of the line by a certain time I was headed back to get a warm drink at the tourist info centre and hope to thaw out my extremities. But the fates had me crossing the bridge with only 5 minutes to spare. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Photo - The rope bridge.</em></span></span></div><div align="justify"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoI9WmJK05UBR0z577ehsY6fq_q50vJX6yHGt8eztnqDC-fgchV8aiiVy-UfzLFVRn8kR02m3vR0KjBTH3OkuGAN_3EFs-u1-HwVUsmfmVRPJSTsXBwbo2DzDZxBXQVcoDiGoYYJCOYr6Q/s1600-h/Walking+down+the+Rope+Bridge+steps.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190188529798079730" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoI9WmJK05UBR0z577ehsY6fq_q50vJX6yHGt8eztnqDC-fgchV8aiiVy-UfzLFVRn8kR02m3vR0KjBTH3OkuGAN_3EFs-u1-HwVUsmfmVRPJSTsXBwbo2DzDZxBXQVcoDiGoYYJCOYr6Q/s320/Walking+down+the+Rope+Bridge+steps.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The island had been used many moons ago by local fisherman who erected the bridge as a way to cross so that they could fish from the more advantageous point. There is a small cottage that was built to give them safe harbour from fast approaching storms and a place to gut their catches. The cottage has long since been boarded up, but I could imaine myself living there with the fire blazing, watching the clouds rolling past the magical headlands and across the tempermental grey ocean. An electrical storm would have been something else altogether! </span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Rach managed to slide down one embankment on her rear end but not before the lady beside her did as well. I've never been more thankful for my trusty hiking boots. The views were fabulous and "breathtaking" is not sufficient a word to describe it. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Photo - Walking down the stairs to get to the rope bridge.</em></span></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTbiwrSthHVpcPFW1kopEWg863w65H7Xmb5xLBqe4TKmpTl7AtELmaceys5aZ9JDT9Lm27tkweXeiKh_hYbi4GxIXuU3tY_F0nJ1d0Q-OjPzKstAN7Zr-n5YqmMvWQRMmahmoO_z-b2pb/s1600-h/Group+3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190192257829692674" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTbiwrSthHVpcPFW1kopEWg863w65H7Xmb5xLBqe4TKmpTl7AtELmaceys5aZ9JDT9Lm27tkweXeiKh_hYbi4GxIXuU3tY_F0nJ1d0Q-OjPzKstAN7Zr-n5YqmMvWQRMmahmoO_z-b2pb/s320/Group+3.jpg" border="0" /></a>Our next driving stop was the Giant's Causeway, which was Davina's chief reason for travelling to Northern Ireland. Because I had been before I stayed behind and tried to organise some accommodation for the evening at the Tourist Information Centre. I did manage to find something against the odds (it was Saturday of the easter long weekend) and we made our way down to Coleraine to a hotel...where I got locked in the bathroom. For over an hour I was in there as the lock had fallen through after I locked myself in for a shower. The others were still down in the restaurant so I had to MacGyver myself out with bobbypins and a pair of tweezers! But, I survived! Funny though that it was the second bathroom I had been locked in in the last month (other was at Mark's pub the George and Vulture). Maybe they are out to get me? :) Bathrooms 2, Alex 0. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Photo - Michelle, Rachael, Me and Davina on the fishing island right after Rach slid down the hill on her rear end.</em></span></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmbKe_TnYTzsxPBpLDEBUc0N3nTjnWuCvviAes5MDfz8Yn9DW9n-MkG6_VtL3r1kSW1cH_SugT-OUunVjqd1ZfOq3W_TZlTjnU-JvlIyT95a_gXzNEXTKKjB-VD3k92EyVF5WeEOqLlHd7/s1600-h/B+and+Michelle+in+car.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190192403858580754" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmbKe_TnYTzsxPBpLDEBUc0N3nTjnWuCvviAes5MDfz8Yn9DW9n-MkG6_VtL3r1kSW1cH_SugT-OUunVjqd1ZfOq3W_TZlTjnU-JvlIyT95a_gXzNEXTKKjB-VD3k92EyVF5WeEOqLlHd7/s320/B+and+Michelle+in+car.jpg" border="0" /></a>Sleep was amazing. Sleep was beautiful. Sleep was the best! After nealry 20 hours of driving, 1 hour of interrupted sleep on a sea sick ferry and a rope bridge crossing that bed could have been made of nails and I still would have fallen into a welcomed slumber. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Photo - Me driving and Michelle in the front seat of the Vauxhall Vectra.</em></span></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgAf_R6sOD6FpxS5k3IbJe8Ej_ISfUPjQ8_OMP-bt7CVGRd_bLVvVlelckReMtmGP28y1vSre1HsCssaB8aaOyj-muQyMMHbX6an2bR39pcwmJSyqhpiWDZxstM0LuvbUplkTzh7HVr0ew/s1600-h/Group.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190194413903275298" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgAf_R6sOD6FpxS5k3IbJe8Ej_ISfUPjQ8_OMP-bt7CVGRd_bLVvVlelckReMtmGP28y1vSre1HsCssaB8aaOyj-muQyMMHbX6an2bR39pcwmJSyqhpiWDZxstM0LuvbUplkTzh7HVr0ew/s320/Group.jpg" border="0" /></a>Sunday saw us drive all the way through Londonderry up to the coast road back in the Republic near Ballygorman and then leisurely down through Donegal and then evetually all the way to Navan. Deev and Michelle found us this amazing hostel to stay in just outside of the town. It was so lovely. It used to be a nursing home but an older couple had bought it and refurbished it with huge plasma screens, computers, leather couches and great breakfast facilities. Before getting there we made a stop at this lookout, sipping cups of tea that Davina has thoughtfully provided in thermoses and eating biscuits "acquired" from the hotel mini-bar. You stood there and felt like the world was completely behind you and you could just see forever. There were some sheep grazing in the paddock that skirted the edge of the sea. I got the feeling that the sea was a powerful character in the story that is Ireland. I've heard it referred to as a life force before but never really grasped the concept until that moment. It surges with force the same way your heart pumps blood through your veins. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Photo - Michelle, Rachael, Me and Davina at our tea stop in Donegal. Starting to think I am a giant compared to these girls!</em></span></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkmXxOob_iUYLLc6A2i8KBFzhkQ5xqHeiJt4BCOJjSLQZ_CjDeZZFwehqkiy6eiSVkdTrZrKAehCkc9goPuRjwsbT616kh7h0koGRbEKrixQosP4_kR2dF3uWgT3S55cAHyHwBgY_nXkP4/s1600-h/Welsh+countryside.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190195393155818802" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkmXxOob_iUYLLc6A2i8KBFzhkQ5xqHeiJt4BCOJjSLQZ_CjDeZZFwehqkiy6eiSVkdTrZrKAehCkc9goPuRjwsbT616kh7h0koGRbEKrixQosP4_kR2dF3uWgT3S55cAHyHwBgY_nXkP4/s320/Welsh+countryside.jpg" border="0" /></a>Our ferry back to Holyhead was scheduled for 7:30am so we drove the last hour into Dublin in the early morning mist. Thankfully this trip across the channel was much more pleasant and we arrived in Holhead ready to see some of the renowned Snowdonia in Wales. Passing through small country towns which backed onto these snow capped mountains is beyond description. It is so different to anythign I had experienced anywhere else in the world. I love hiking expeditions, despite my unfit state, and was eager to join one of the many groups of walkers that were seeting off on their journeys from one of the many towns nestled at the foot of the hills. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Photo - The Welsh Snowdonia countryside.</em></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Snow began to fall as we snaked our way towards our final destination, London, fittingly somehow drawing a white curtain over our weekend of girlie road trip fun. </span></div></div><br /></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-34564562592876441632008-04-07T02:09:00.000-07:002008-04-07T02:18:30.991-07:00And they said it would never happen...<div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYYVMvKDIjt8eSC2ySkxSzE_PV3ldBAav8pLJHBDBKEU5z5cf26gFoffVKlbu5IkRSWxbx5w2LDgmffMirt3tG0yRyGFIP7ouUn1HmHloJ_8KMU01ci_dbE-nQoVnlpBGwJXZVACV9j6-e/s1600-h/Tooting+Snowman.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186428579723559954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYYVMvKDIjt8eSC2ySkxSzE_PV3ldBAav8pLJHBDBKEU5z5cf26gFoffVKlbu5IkRSWxbx5w2LDgmffMirt3tG0yRyGFIP7ouUn1HmHloJ_8KMU01ci_dbE-nQoVnlpBGwJXZVACV9j6-e/s320/Tooting+Snowman.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Yes, that's right, it has snowed again in London. That's four times now since I moved here. And before I left Australia I was told not to get my hopes up for snow since it was a very rare sight in London. To be truthful, I think I have experienced snow in London more times than I have experienced hot days!</span></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186428790176957474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8hZlSAnzvRSqSkqIa_81yd9WFi9Tj1Qz0_3Jzdyyum-OOmwPUcxzhQOI5Z_TYC2wAuPj8ejFfCC2Hgzgy1fMpZnqcACyPZ0hDfWHaGi5OoZKNpNInXoj_blN_CoqS0KJqrmilmstAqB0t/s320/Tooting+Snow+2.jpg" border="0" /></div></div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186429782314402866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsQ9VmDYY9pTR0X_LDYJ6Yj_rNJlVo20NgmIvuO2GuJoKvcEmh1D8-dmxr5ORb39OKI9PCNtzfBDaI_-CKq3Wtji1hvG_2JJlNng8TGKwkPbiLfFW_HofSdEWP5E7OkwdmezlcnjKK-roV/s320/Snow+flower.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186429915458389058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8eoyY_dDy8ZksT5wBd6JojfPUxmHvxCd8V0HcujBAwRfGolsmBUKZtLKrrXw4GmYsUJd_OhCEHg61UR5yI4AbV5BQSGFxu9UCn9bUXF_5wMrK8_CqwdQItcOfDNHKofgCb-YG3e_etvN6/s320/Tooting+Seat.jpg" border="0" /></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-84222207415990273002008-04-06T13:56:00.000-07:002008-04-06T16:05:04.218-07:00The Olympic Torch run<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGaUwYuXXW610wQX6u04ZbDWpaicQ4lb5_QfbGrb89RtD_LJML0dwZYoIW4G2j6iAIYQI63Ct8_pWh8cadIjOpkgamjkJJz3cTXeSdVfV8C7cST2COKClalyum99fSLGA9Sx2bHnahWlOx/s1600-h/London+Torch.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186247800255103986" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGaUwYuXXW610wQX6u04ZbDWpaicQ4lb5_QfbGrb89RtD_LJML0dwZYoIW4G2j6iAIYQI63Ct8_pWh8cadIjOpkgamjkJJz3cTXeSdVfV8C7cST2COKClalyum99fSLGA9Sx2bHnahWlOx/s320/London+Torch.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">On an otherwise snowy and cold Sunday morning and in an effort to see more "London", I took my friend Marleen up on her offer to head into London Bridge to see the 2008 Beijing Olympic Torch run. Having been part of the security with the RFS when the torch made it through Sydney in 2000 I knew that this would be a little less exciting as it had being able to run along side the torch on Wakehurst Parkway, but still, this torch relay is in London, and that always adds a little extra exhilaration. <span style="font-size:85%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Photo - Torch relay at London Bridge. Torch is labelled on right hand side.<br /></em></span></span><br /></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I needn't have worried though because the runners actually by-passed us. We got a fabulous spot only to just catch a glimpse of the action as the runners took a detour. I got to see a flicker of flame and about 30 armed policemen guarding the runner but that's about it. Turns out that the Police changed the runner's path because of protester mayhem about Tibet (see any news broadcast). I can say that </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I was very impressed that the armed policemen managed to keep up with the runner. They must be very fit! :P</span></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigFZecz_AnJMh2TNLmd3Rd3e_yGTx7R1Pej0tlJ0eYYWMXr4cXpozTm-NZo4wMn7b3WMxZ1s4yX1VUXTaAyY67tG3rSdVLeA2mLprsJbq1FIwUZZVOp2bJSMMwkIgCEQI7aCLwWXN7L9F/s1600-h/Marleen+and+Me.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186249363623199746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigFZecz_AnJMh2TNLmd3Rd3e_yGTx7R1Pej0tlJ0eYYWMXr4cXpozTm-NZo4wMn7b3WMxZ1s4yX1VUXTaAyY67tG3rSdVLeA2mLprsJbq1FIwUZZVOp2bJSMMwkIgCEQI7aCLwWXN7L9F/s320/Marleen+and+Me.jpg" border="0" /></a>It was good to see Marleen again. She is from the Netherlands. I met her on the Tube one day last year. When I lived with Karen in Chiswick she told me about an article in the newspaper about how people never talk to one another on the Tube. One day I was travelling south on the Northern line and that conversation popped into my head. So I turned to the person next to me and started chatting. And that was Marleen.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Photo - Marleen and me at London Bridge just after the Olympic Torch completely bypassed us.</em></span></div><div align="justify"> </div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-84059605275448129442008-03-20T12:05:00.000-07:002008-03-20T12:55:54.551-07:00There's a current in my puddle!<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOJoyqt4fnkbIhzj01j18t9OiCDCfjgdZlZZZL4EMxqlAf7kdS3Bi1ifCuB5zca1FzXUhgole93u6btCyi-YW-xN7npY1wrO8BVE8t6QonSIEAdL8yt48ZN1HFP8FHyYbNNcgoUMpHcYr/s1600-h/j0399957.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179913015551280082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOJoyqt4fnkbIhzj01j18t9OiCDCfjgdZlZZZL4EMxqlAf7kdS3Bi1ifCuB5zca1FzXUhgole93u6btCyi-YW-xN7npY1wrO8BVE8t6QonSIEAdL8yt48ZN1HFP8FHyYbNNcgoUMpHcYr/s320/j0399957.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">How is it that I can buy a digital camera at Tescos (supermarket chain) for less than the price of a disposable camera? Mind you I also had to buy batteries to go in it and they cost the same price again. But still!!! I've been smacking myself on the back of my head for losing my camera battery charger. I have this amazing Sony 8MG pixel camera that I bought before leaving home in 2006. But it does me no good because somewhere between Mum's place and my Tooting flat I lost the charger. I have a sneaking suspicion there is a customs officer in Singapore with an extra camera charger he dug out of the lost and found box at the airport. My lovely brother found me a new charger in Sydney and my wonderful mother has posted it to me but unfortunately it won't be here in time for Easter which is when I head off on my next adventure - road tripping through Northern Ireland. Hence why I grabbed the camera at the supermarket this afternoon. You can also blame my lack of blogs on my lack of camera battery charge too. </span><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Because of my lack of camera I have been looking at London with the eyes of someone who has to rely on words rather than pictures to describe the situation. And it is a enlightening experience. Maybe it is because I walk or catch public transport everywhere instead of drive that I am seeing more of "life" and it makes you smile. Like the man in Victoria Library on Saturday. I went up there in search of a particular crime thriller I was searching for and ended up sitting against the stacks enthralled in a book. Half an hour into my little read I heard a thud and looked up to see the old man asleep, having dropped his book. He sat there snoring away for a good 20 minutes before he woke himself up with a particularly loud snort and promptly lent down to pick up the book and continue reading. Then there is the little girl in the line with her mother at the bank. We stood there having a competition crossing our eyes and giggling. Then there is the laundromat - a mecca for random people. I go down the road to dry my sheets for the grand sum of 40p. One week I sat and chatted to a guy from Clapham South who was washing and drying the team shirts for the rugby team he played for "The Pink Ladies". I helped him fold some shirts while we talked about travel and places we'd been and were yet to go. Another week I got into a debate with a large black Caribbean lady about British celebrities in the OK magazine. And then last week a old man came in and started talking to me while he spun and dried his weekly washing. His preferred topic - the size of railway tracks in Ireland and their influence on the Indian-Pacific track in Australia. He also had a lot to say about the women's vote coming into effect in the 1920s. </span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I notice more things during my walks to and from school too. I think I let life whizz by my side mirrors in Australia as I drove past in my Mazda 6. I notice how gorgeous little children are in their coats and scarves, especially little girls with stockings and Mary Jane shoes on. I notice that I pass 13 men walking to the station in the morning and 19 women. There are also spy puddles here. You can't see them. They are in stealth mode. The only way you figure out that they are there is when you're ankle deep in water. I have a sneaking suspicion that they have a plot to take over the footpaths of London. I currently have 3 pairs of shoes up against the radiator trying to dry out. But I have come up with a way to bring down this invasion!</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We had amazing wind storms and rain showers earlier this week. The wind was pushing at me with such force that I made it home in half the time it usually takes me! :) But my trusty M&S umbrella was a casualty of war. On my charge home, I saw that there was not just a ripple of water running across the stealth puddles, but an actual current! And for the first time in a long time I made it home with dry shoes! So, to flush out the enemy we just need to watch for the tell tale sign of a puddle being pulled out to sea! :P</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Yes, I think I have lost the plot. But I bought a camera today so the next blog should be back to normal. Either that or London has made me cuckoo again and I need to escape. Good thing I am headed over to Ireland tomorrow. </span></div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179913208824808418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicYIwcrowNqdn86GywI1tI5gV-dfBjJL47IdLUIvQPLIA0nnKUqmP_OADfaKSRje8M6mrln-RDuIAwNS0rQPxaCscSJo4rD5dDLTmJPCFPyjxaE9BEICd1wmsVRdZcAzVa5uDxaGt2gfab/s320/Holidays_HoppyEaster-lilpenguinshop-1514222.gif" border="0" /></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-72958628747517286722008-03-02T10:43:00.000-08:002008-03-02T11:24:25.929-08:00The George and Vulture<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvaaG8T9JgoEM6wtCgzTzgEa8mq2r1TKbGlUtGIRfhIF-B1jvR67Z9BrnTMzc3dDixvELAMD1LdWMMa2t0Z7wXHu6M7JWSuc3SCxe74CPx9SG0d4V2TE90VIe9ShucL9S_NNlgW8EC40N/s1600-h/The+bar.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173220916618181186" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvaaG8T9JgoEM6wtCgzTzgEa8mq2r1TKbGlUtGIRfhIF-B1jvR67Z9BrnTMzc3dDixvELAMD1LdWMMa2t0Z7wXHu6M7JWSuc3SCxe74CPx9SG0d4V2TE90VIe9ShucL9S_NNlgW8EC40N/s320/The+bar.jpg" border="0" /></a>Davina's friend Mark decided towards the end of last year that he wasn't enjoying his job so much over here so he and 3 mates went and bought a pub. It is called the George and Vulture (what is it with the weird and wonderful pub names over here?) and is in Pitfield Street in North London. Last night, after weeks of refurbishment that they did themselves, it had it's opening night.</span><br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN1gwP7OSfPMNQo41OCTcZt263EYz5hxMnqtSANvwPgBBinsO0lCPRr1-0Oq7S_pjwbFGnfqVYZOtEXZMtdiWq2yv0G8DdwdSBmmSOGPHkkhV0kbYnIrTv8IlYFLu5hcc0VJ6zFdthHZ0p/s1600-h/Me+and+Nina.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRtFe58PPN4cjYJIoqz1SD0DsMcozVO4skSQXOWNpza1ZeCj1ML0uMPribKlfyS6itmQzhfZYJx8gEbIdp0SW8naRPGieWSZ_zqINMSC4ib6kFq5TSK9IxXuhQ7hYIaLuhdrwk32hp7MTD/s1600-h/Barry+and+Davina.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173220414107007538" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRtFe58PPN4cjYJIoqz1SD0DsMcozVO4skSQXOWNpza1ZeCj1ML0uMPribKlfyS6itmQzhfZYJx8gEbIdp0SW8naRPGieWSZ_zqINMSC4ib6kFq5TSK9IxXuhQ7hYIaLuhdrwk32hp7MTD/s320/Barry+and+Davina.jpg" border="0" /></a>As is the way with London, the Northern line was shut on the branch that stops at Old Street which is the closest tube station to the pub. Added to that the fact that the overground station at Old Street was also closed, it took most of us over 2 hours to get there. But it was great to see some familiar faces and share a pint of brew (or in my case a Strongbow laced with blackcurrent - don't knock it till you've tried it) at a pub that is now part of our "London family".</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKJ-ZpQGi1Ui9Fj14KlBoxAHNq67bLuEUnbAngO9BLiHyMKPPHVY8yFNDsgxHjUl_sxaSRjqMtjmo8RhKCiBT67bqv9UWle6cvsZR0h0BfLDr6i21S_oUtTz22jOFnKjxJpncHn4dPL2B4/s1600-h/Me+and+Rachel.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9F9S3rBZz9dGzSvguzu0ZhUPI-J-pdvb3eZezyJ2qSUQKFcdTRheswnzxF6KsERxW5dyX64U4lLi7BbMoQKPPfj9BhzCw-RchIrteiuVGVEGntrOKrZcJOzECkGIX6ZUXbxRifsO46Eld/s1600-h/Nina,+Me,+Davina+and+Gabby.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173220238013348386" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9F9S3rBZz9dGzSvguzu0ZhUPI-J-pdvb3eZezyJ2qSUQKFcdTRheswnzxF6KsERxW5dyX64U4lLi7BbMoQKPPfj9BhzCw-RchIrteiuVGVEGntrOKrZcJOzECkGIX6ZUXbxRifsO46Eld/s320/Nina,+Me,+Davina+and+Gabby.jpg" border="0" /></a>It never ceases to amaze me every day that my photos contain the people nearest and dearest to me. 98% of which I had never met 18 months ago. Huge shout out to Davina, who was the photographer of the night and whose photos I have "acquired" for this blog. Cheers mate!</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ooCs1McX_3mzd6VHPywLntzv3nofEfMSlCByRDOsgoI8N9L8BA6rfntVgjSvZ0K4yw_s2zubxmOtqWULllSh-Is9F8odC4bEJ5FukLp1kF06XVR_qtneLOjZ_ULtAj9q4gm2eR1ga-Jw/s1600-h/Rachael+and+Davina.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173221165726284370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ooCs1McX_3mzd6VHPywLntzv3nofEfMSlCByRDOsgoI8N9L8BA6rfntVgjSvZ0K4yw_s2zubxmOtqWULllSh-Is9F8odC4bEJ5FukLp1kF06XVR_qtneLOjZ_ULtAj9q4gm2eR1ga-Jw/s320/Rachael+and+Davina.jpg" border="0" /></a>So if you are in London at all, stopping over of staying for a while, why not head up and over to the George and Vulture? </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"><em>Photos from top to bottom:</em></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"><em>1) The bar at the George and Vulture</em></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"><em>2) Barry and Davina</em></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"><em>3) Nina, Me, Davina and Gabby</em></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"><em>4) Rachael and Davina.</em></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-5694594145249016432008-03-01T05:45:00.000-08:002008-03-01T09:26:45.373-08:00Wonderful but wet Wales, with a little bit of Mozart thrown in.<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">London had mid-term holidays last week and I was very much looking forward to having a lie in each morning and getting through some planning work for school and generally just catching up with myself. Obviously my body thought catching up would be a good idea too and struck me down with a rather nasty case of the flu. The flu is so much worse when you can't whinge to your mum and she looks after you by making you tea and bringing you chicken soup! So, the first 4 days of my week were spent in bed surrounded by tissues, magazines that Karen had given me and cups of lemon and honey tea. Don't get me wrong, I am actually grateful that it happened in the holidays because, as I am a supply teacher, I don't get paid if I don't teach.</span></div><br /><p align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">On Tuesday night I managed to pull myself together to go to the Mozart symphony with Karen, who had scored some free tickets through work. It was an adventure, I tell you. Here I was thinking I was in for a night of classical music, and how wrong I was. First of all Karen and I were the last to arrive and we couldn't find our seats so we ended up walking the full length of the auditorium trying to find seats 34 and 35. As per normal we were both wearing the same colour and of course, it had to be bright red, so inconspicuous we were not! Then after an usher rushed over to get us to sit down, a guy 2 rows from us had a fit and threw up all over the place before promptly passing out, and then an old gentlemen needed to make an emergency stop at the bathroom and it took him 25 minutes to climb the stairs and then he just disappeared and never came back! Add to that the hoopla involved in getting the ambulance officers into the auditorium and set it all against the backdrop against the fine tunes from Wolfgang </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Amadeus Mozart! What a night!</span></p><p align="justify"> </p><p align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYyve7BXAgs0yq5rZQ1SBGwo5MbV3GF6hbgNtvmYaZWenOI2bZBXdITXp_2PKhQW3wxnYFbs6neVuGEdlwVtwCUeye8-5IqfzXfedjLsMjaFEf2mQnN3OfK2EK0PP2GThoXcTP0YXRhLXq/s1600-h/B+in+the+country.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172819204032018786" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYyve7BXAgs0yq5rZQ1SBGwo5MbV3GF6hbgNtvmYaZWenOI2bZBXdITXp_2PKhQW3wxnYFbs6neVuGEdlwVtwCUeye8-5IqfzXfedjLsMjaFEf2mQnN3OfK2EK0PP2GThoXcTP0YXRhLXq/s320/B+in+the+country.jpg" border="0" /></a>By Thursday afternoon I managed to function on 7 out of 8 cylinders, which is an improvement on me normally anyway, so on a whim I booked a trip to Wales. Wales was the only UK country I hadn't explored and thought that it was high time to get my butt into action and head west. It was very last minute as the tour I booked left London at 7am on Friday morning! There were 21 people on the bus and our tour manager, Gary, was very good at coming up with ways to keep us entertained during the drive out of the city to the Welsh countryside. Usually it involved a story where he completely embarrassed himself!</span></p><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifAuaSPMAG1zdX6PGP9AynRbVCIlGBiuSSkEfHTMzV0o3fhwazWCuRJXzz5lMb5WXzfAwng2jr7dGW6HmSx4PFJebSTXWpDKmtXEZFmu814CeGALvn2iJVpDzWa5TilVlUh4HvR2N6YB1c/s1600-h/Waterfall+walk.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172819564809271666" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifAuaSPMAG1zdX6PGP9AynRbVCIlGBiuSSkEfHTMzV0o3fhwazWCuRJXzz5lMb5WXzfAwng2jr7dGW6HmSx4PFJebSTXWpDKmtXEZFmu814CeGALvn2iJVpDzWa5TilVlUh4HvR2N6YB1c/s320/Waterfall+walk.jpg" border="0" /></a>If I had to describe Wales I would say that it is a poor man's Scotland. I know that sounds unfair but it is exactly how I felt about the countryside and cities. I am extremely partial to Scotland as you could probably tell by my blog entry from when I went exploring the Highlands with Vic back in October 2007. So anything compared to Scotland was always going to come off second best unfortunately for Wales. Wales just lacks the vibrancy and the colours I see in Scotland. We originally drove into Newport and stopped for morning tea. It was a pretty place, but nothing jumped up and grabbed me.</span><br /></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7KL1oNvU4D1rQFn4mekG8AELS0IW2BEfYhnnJ_WMF61Gcmmk-jonmjKSt1LlDnFky4fi1jsGkrN4zy7rcpxNi__anJcwmzVfTk22ieFqLXAr7UsXDOwp11N_xiYyqzd0TEmNzW066VLn9/s1600-h/Millenium+Stadium+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172819998600968578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7KL1oNvU4D1rQFn4mekG8AELS0IW2BEfYhnnJ_WMF61Gcmmk-jonmjKSt1LlDnFky4fi1jsGkrN4zy7rcpxNi__anJcwmzVfTk22ieFqLXAr7UsXDOwp11N_xiYyqzd0TEmNzW066VLn9/s320/Millenium+Stadium+2.jpg" border="0" /></a>I was very much looking forward to visiting Cardiff. I am a Rugby Union nut and love watching the game, so why not visit the home of rugby? Millennium Stadium is massive! And stuck in the middle of all these other buildings. I am so used to Sydney, where they build the stadiums in the middle of nowhere and it takes you ages to get there and they are surrounded by huge car parks. Millennium Stadium is smack bang in the middle of the city, with other buildings almost touching it's edges. Not sure where people park their cars though?????? </span></div><p align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPxNJTcvo1TDk9NlZdPFHRMaU7dWeWoTk8tlqkrZb5g6dolPVgTztLTRPMmxmAuWj2vc6qXvr-5FtmwortTpf4KlrmFHmcqOylOMFTHYom7qmp-jHSMXM55X_Iw4DtBs2-QLJutZP9zVu/s1600-h/Cardiff+Castle+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172820621371226514" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPxNJTcvo1TDk9NlZdPFHRMaU7dWeWoTk8tlqkrZb5g6dolPVgTztLTRPMmxmAuWj2vc6qXvr-5FtmwortTpf4KlrmFHmcqOylOMFTHYom7qmp-jHSMXM55X_Iw4DtBs2-QLJutZP9zVu/s320/Cardiff+Castle+2.jpg" border="0" /></a>Wales was playing Italy that afternoon (Wales thrashed them) so they had cancelled all the stadium tours meaning I missed out on going inside, but I am sure I will be back there at some point. I will have to catch a game there before I head home. Instead of touring the stadium I tried to find the waterfront. I tried for an hour and a half but had no joy so headed to the castle and took a tour there.</span></p><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We stayed at a rather dodgy pub which doubled as a backpackers, called "The Black Sheep". Most of the girls stayed in a 20 bed dorm room which had the unmistakable odour of cat pee. Luckily my bed had slats missing and in order to prevent getting to know the girl sleeping below me better in the middle of the night, I moved to the 7 bed dorm where the couples and 2 other girls were sleeping. Turns out it was an excellent move. Not only because my bed actually had slats but also because I met Chris and Michelle, a married couple from Adelaide. It was good having some friendly people to chat with on the bus, or walking with them when we went to certain sites etc. Plus they like UNO (as do I, with a passion) so we played a championship game after dinner one night.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The Black Sheep served food a'la chips, peas and pies or chips, peas and lasagne or chips, peas and faggots (giggle, giggle). Oh Yes! The Welsh delicacy of FAGGOTS! (giggle, giggle). Faggots (giggle, giggle) are basically sausage type meat balls. On our second night there some of us couldn't handle chips, peas and something, so we went out for a very expensive but nonetheless yummy meal in town. I had the Moroccan Lamb and it was delicious.</span><br /><br /></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-uKmXpdhP1PFC-O-Q-pWHWNBhCWQ0AIZwSdlB1jBoKs3nKYiEEve62DdGvHHbkV3F0Xh1p4bUoJ2yZrJkFRS7NDJyiH_1hdRBoIt6DfPKh23LHUM2UIYxhw_YqMyv7tFfvJuqktRMqu48/s1600-h/Wales+006.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172821519019391410" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-uKmXpdhP1PFC-O-Q-pWHWNBhCWQ0AIZwSdlB1jBoKs3nKYiEEve62DdGvHHbkV3F0Xh1p4bUoJ2yZrJkFRS7NDJyiH_1hdRBoIt6DfPKh23LHUM2UIYxhw_YqMyv7tFfvJuqktRMqu48/s320/Wales+006.jpg" border="0" /></a>We toured some of the dams in the south of Wales but none had tipped over the edge, so rather than cascading, they were casually dribbling not unlike your old age grandma. We also saw one of the Welsh beaches. The best description I can come up for this is grey. Grey sand, grey water smothered by a grey sky. To counteract this "greyness" the people have painted the buildings that line the concourse a variety of pastel colours which actually compliment the grey rather than compete with it.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ6wnAisF68MSfntVsh5VGU33sy6NbAuTzbDiCvfudQ68rW0099QhlHYqMd4ZM5N6EFAbxH0nzx1jPrBbN79hbxoqAGkJk9JzkFyhwHU_vbV71F-dFSyuh9cY-tGbrHZpAqyRX5ABpWw2n/s1600-h/The+Big+Pit.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172821819667102146" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ6wnAisF68MSfntVsh5VGU33sy6NbAuTzbDiCvfudQ68rW0099QhlHYqMd4ZM5N6EFAbxH0nzx1jPrBbN79hbxoqAGkJk9JzkFyhwHU_vbV71F-dFSyuh9cY-tGbrHZpAqyRX5ABpWw2n/s320/The+Big+Pit.jpg" border="0" /></a>I think that the highlights of the trip were The Big Pit and Tintern Abbey which we saw on Sunday. The Big Pit is one of the last coal mines in Wales. It was closed in the 1990s and now serves as a working museum. We got kitted out with emergency packs, air canisters and hardhats with headlamps just before descending down into the mine shaft. It was a good thing I am not a) claustrophobic or b) afraid of the dark because the mine corridors are pretty scary. Added to the tight spaces and darkness was the very chilly air and all up you get a rather freaky experience that makes you glad that you never had to work in those conditions. I think I will take my 29 smelly, snotty, snivelling children any day!</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyS9QSj1BWiz2CtwASm9DDJOJC334D5err7NkcD_XWMxiO_RFtaCcjsCxSR7zuz91TtlFbyU3__hO2rwYeMIQSiIeSrDZUqd4mgFSetCyqIbiwLfKuQgtmoxU7PQ_n25mRWlgOF2O_lppC/s1600-h/Tintern+Abbey+black.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172822150379583954" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyS9QSj1BWiz2CtwASm9DDJOJC334D5err7NkcD_XWMxiO_RFtaCcjsCxSR7zuz91TtlFbyU3__hO2rwYeMIQSiIeSrDZUqd4mgFSetCyqIbiwLfKuQgtmoxU7PQ_n25mRWlgOF2O_lppC/s320/Tintern+Abbey+black.jpg" border="0" /></a>Tintern Abbey is a magnificent set of ruins that used to be a grand abbey that served the Southern Wales people for ages. It was destroyed under the ruling of Henry 8th when he developed the Church of England (bastard!). What a waste! It would have been an awesome sight to behold in it's heyday. Most of the external structure had held, but all of the interior has been reduced to sprouts of weeds and grass spurting between upturned rubble and rocks. It's not hard to imagine the monks wandering around the draughty halls and lofty rooms that would have made up the buildings within the compound.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeYYcnmS-fAB8LyEmXKJtKvB8CzynCZVaez22ndRoutDNoQWz5FiDkvt-EfTXi5Gi4jtiGqd18Jyh8Ywm2Qp4n2DQ2oSqiYwdASFvbr4cqse1Ni9YtnG7OM8f2v-3jHlAlsykrIcxij-CL/s1600-h/Cardiff+Castle+Drawbridge.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172821007918283170" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeYYcnmS-fAB8LyEmXKJtKvB8CzynCZVaez22ndRoutDNoQWz5FiDkvt-EfTXi5Gi4jtiGqd18Jyh8Ywm2Qp4n2DQ2oSqiYwdASFvbr4cqse1Ni9YtnG7OM8f2v-3jHlAlsykrIcxij-CL/s320/Cardiff+Castle+Drawbridge.jpg" border="0" /></a>Whilst Wales was not spectacular or soul moving, like Scotland is for me, I am still impressed by it. I hear that the northern parts of Wales e.g. Snowdonia are amazing and I am hoping to travel there in May. There is lots to see in Wales but the best part is listening to the accent. It's like the Welsh people are singing to you as they speak. The lilt is more like a tune. Absolutely beautiful!</span></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-30357855050278979052008-02-25T10:26:00.000-08:002008-02-25T10:47:36.234-08:00February was "Found a house" month<div align="justify"><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Yes, you read correctly, I finally found a house at the beginning of February. I now live in Balham in a house share with 5 others - 3 guys (Aussie, Indian and English) and 2 girls (Aussie and English). It is not the best looking house I saw but the people make up for that without a doubt. They are great flatmates and seem to get on very well. We have a house dinner each month (lamb roast this month) and tend to eat at the same time so all sit around the kitchen table. After living alone for a while it is nice to have some people to talk to although I never seem to be able to find a place to dry my washing on the lines. :) Can't complain though as the house has an "ironing room", a room filled with airers and an ironing board!</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'm never moving again though! It took me a full month of looking at places. 19 to be exact. I was out seeing places after work and it was not a happy experience. I saw some beautiful places but people wouldn't ring you back and I saw some really dodgy joints where you had to run home for a shower because you might have caught something just from stepping foot over the threshold! </span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Here are some photos of my new place...<br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170988844739088018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNufIK7vq6BeE_jxHdiPufymtYhdRq1-hvd-k9h48JgWjVV0Cpmc1G3F0AnFp6aepTsf_sZegrfqObKBleBLMeaag89drbc-9A0NfmRWZyYVokggtsLqKt6E1JPtak8UhZKsjJweQWRRlR/s320/Kitchen.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170988969293139618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-daNclTfu4pVy1SFy2R0Q8MD1oVzywM2WLQlXpbNtO3lYA7EDkuaHOUym_eWHzwDjNo6Ve9E7a7L3xwjK3IVTS_aKRRSAc1wII21BSnPjhyphenhypheno9fYa0apW93P03TC6OaXvfVuHFFDrc0Qm/s320/Loungeroom.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170989789631893170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7HHieNNDaU-qALV6_k-w8ewBr0l4GoxD2sJFlKboiEqUz0zygJ4Z-6ZcnTAZEjtftc-CBUW2SwqdPWuVvSX2enAQTKwhZi2jvUuhi7hMSrGg0pKE4aUOc0rt5thA2B2d6QprC8Q2x4Nz/s320/Ironing+room.jpg" border="0" /><br /></span><div></div><br /></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-44911467258006292152008-01-22T08:10:00.000-08:002008-01-22T08:17:55.451-08:00The Ballet<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Last Thursday my class went on an excursion to the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden to see the Royal Ballet Company’s production of “Sylvia”. I wasn’t sure what to expect as I had never seen a ballet before, never taken Year 5 on an excursion and certainly never travelled on the tube with children. But I loved it. And am planning to go back and see another performance (not Sylvia but something else) at night when I don’t have a theatre full of school aged children surrounding me. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158334599221103442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_3I0I-m1rRTraHH01KOXjTEmzV2sDR_IFi_ccMVaZCIP77ua3MddFtoSZ1OZ9mSM7iM395Z6Xdlesp_AHrbfN9-EJpqRM4MMB96lVVL9kiADl6W85dlwMThJ5Nub3XEH1lPD-OE1Wv8NV/s320/On+the+tube.JPG" border="0" /><br />I was very proud of my kids though because there were high school children screaming and hollering throughout the performance. But my class sat quietly and watched and clapped which was really lovely to see. Goes to show you that money does not necessarily buy you manners!<br /></span></div><div align="justify"></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158334457487182658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcGVjlvRWEUJRkjGMZnFmW1b2UjDYCC7gVLFy4F7wlQ2GRr2FF3Gf9BRGn9ect0u96r4jJIsJljDp9WE1iArLyErJ_RPUrk4OOXt_k6KL8rfVPQqCSgajMJIV36DjK-Nbv9uzn4AAXzwhe/s320/In+the+theatre.JPG" border="0" /><br />Strange but true fact… it turns out that Jonathan (my cousin’s husband) actually produced the one off performance’s programme! Small world huh?<br /><br /></span><div align="justify"></div><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158334298573392690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlOWtKBHpgklAF8CNhsjNZdDUzPs6hmKIiJNY4AWW5cLU9JrFfx9eb0U3P-OumE4gdqdzrAzJqOLKmH7EM_zhU-CzVikEp71ksp2sWsYYdi6o9Jyi1OBxQV6UMNFWYzFntuR3tsDmmCL_U/s320/Dancers.JPG" border="0" /><br />Still searching for a house. As of Sunday afternoon I have now seen 16 places. As of next weekend I am officially desperate! Keep your fingers crossed for me please.<br /><br />Just before I went home Karen, Vic, Nicola and I went ice-skating in Hyde Park for the Winter Wonderland festival. It was great fun and although cold, the atmosphere was amazing. Felt like a little bit of Scandinavia in London!</span></p><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158335441034693474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipQh_is8s7CFbYgd3rbZBZwn_FhFAqXiBK3G-UcaP9aAkDqxVOlqk4MuBvX5-UidP-BeAvA5OaSE6En2rmUQF9AfUi5fpFAs7U8Wd71bJmI9A_xSrBkk1s3YTNVIVegH8vTbfps0oWwSZn/s320/Iceskating.jpg" border="0" /></span></p>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-61154728073617746432008-01-10T08:22:00.000-08:002008-01-10T10:02:31.289-08:00Hunting for a House<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg09M1xtGVXddVtET9JK6xT4TxWpQUuns5Nvzl2N93XiX2UVXWf0L5vl_Tj6I5ydB_MGZokZ3XfFZNWCqK0aH_El2elbCyl5_uX-djDswqZZ9EC2FDal6eHzBybKh75eHmHT1CpG_sBlX3k/s1600-h/Home+085.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153896570859440930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg09M1xtGVXddVtET9JK6xT4TxWpQUuns5Nvzl2N93XiX2UVXWf0L5vl_Tj6I5ydB_MGZokZ3XfFZNWCqK0aH_El2elbCyl5_uX-djDswqZZ9EC2FDal6eHzBybKh75eHmHT1CpG_sBlX3k/s320/Home+085.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'm in the middle of house hunting at the moment and it sucks big time. Either the places are yicky or they are lovely and I am competing with 100 people for them.<br /><br />School has begun and I am really enjoying teaching full time on one class again. I love being evil and setting lots of homework too. Something I could never do teaching Kindy. I'm giving the kids a 4 week project tomorrow along with a maths test and spelling quiz. Moohahahahaha (that's my evil laugh in case you weren't sure)!!!!!!!!!</span> <div><div><div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So I should pop some piccies from home up here too. I didn't do anything monumentally huge when I was there but I did have a fabulous time. I got to see my kids from St Martin's and attend their End of year Mass.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> </div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153885318045125298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipQhbtA-YCtUo9PeaTim8cys3jz2dckhcSf0t8eK0I_xYwoDGpG6ofVWbaYfbY9usWZ23TENtDMD-QNWQwTql3XA2fv6s-oPvU8zvw91JiMfCX4rzYXzss2zyrXQiUjvh6bdmbxivOcV9w/s320/Home+034.jpg" border="0" /> I caught up with Brett and Lisa McCallum, Horse and Christie, Simon, Tegan, Mel, Scotty, Matty D, Erin, Hoover, Cam etc at Pittwater RSL for a beer or two as well.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153887585787857602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaqbHFd_JddtmNgC-qtEdpMwidqPW0XBJCUZtrQf7Y5w0ei0ghkya1TzrU0AefrKvEb-3-IQTzmZH6szQrQYaExjHouu2rpA8Lb7tCgInn4cDE7zRIUplVCcVoBN58qgELR0R0pq9wz04M/s320/Simon+and+B.jpg" border="0" />Simon and I went to the beach and soaked up a few rays of sun. Wish I could have swam but in all honesty IT WAS COLD! And I am a big fat chicken! Also built some sandcastles with Lachie and Ashleigh Grimshaw too.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153889046076738258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_5EyMT5LUb1coIteeQglxLQW_ob8fFJgwz9e28bcBBZzdZ9bD_i8LZRkyVIw1BbZRO1FIeOraRzsIfIVZtZ8iA6QMDrtfzl-Uw9b_l4wxeL1jHKsnRlpEPKQP3I40uRDafzZgkpWhkYR/s320/Home+078.jpg" border="0" /></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Christmas was relatively quiet. I saw Dad a few days before hand and then spent the actual day with Mum and Cleland before heading up the hill to see the Cook/Portelli/Berrell family. Cleland's girlfriend Belle got a new dog and it is so small it fits in the palm of your hand. Cleo, the dog, is the one on the left!<br /></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153890832783133410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9QXmHUavVB470SXD3KOy1UJ-nUKYKYJF7MpNojIBlmfb0DkqvDQFf2SPiFvSNvFJs0wcd76Ak6b-rLlOtCw5pKiPeY81DIMhULlo-gV-L2Qbs5gNZ97svXrtj6Q0T5IR4_kiG_8dGQz0C/s320/Home+062.jpg" border="0" /><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I was really looking forward to seeing my friend Christine as she and her husband Greg are expecting their first child in April/May. I've known Christine since we were 3 so I was very excited to see her in her new role as "Mum-to-be". We spent a wonderful day having lunch and then again caught up at the Doyle's Annual Boxing Day BBQ too! </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153893104820833010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRCzERJI_Gi-1wCTbXqBgeSiaFVdOfztyGQNtT-cqucATLB2bH4mgefRmGZ-mPbQZs7T-iBd0eiJfjbdtzI-Gai8NLOeLE9vrJJKnEMA2_yXngX1B3BJEKoXiRyxwu5AF0SfFgR8vCJYsF/s320/Home+070.jpg" border="0" /> </span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Also saw Alex and the soon to be Mrs Heathers, Lisa. Big congratulations to them both (Alex popped the question a couple of days later during their NYE camping trip). Plus Paul and Trinette Robinson and Robyn and John Zampa-Howe.<br /></div></span><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A surprising but awesome thing too was being able to meet my friend Kevin's new baby boy William. I say new baby even though he was born at Easter last year. William is such a bright and giggly baby and I loved getting some cuddles.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153894831397686018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPzKOpFFhx_M-R69kyLB6HBZc1oUZ6azRvjPNFZeCF6Y8TwcMHQlbrnFWtERq5o7mwH7eKa4rcKbSD_mkRmeJJGi6g_LsOQVCipYY50fH4boAiYjZIxWfPU1oiav8uqRJ8o1YBZT6ZlAV/s320/Home+112.jpg" border="0" /><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Speaking of babies... Next time I am home there will be not 1, not 2, not 3 but 4 new bundles of joy waiting for some Aunty Alex cuddles! What are you people drinking over there?!?</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So that was my Christmas trip home. I had the best time just hanging out with my Mum and watching her mash potatoes so I could finally master the trick of how to make them taste the right way (psst, it's all in the salt!) and seeing my friends. And now I am back and about to leave school to see yet another house off Gumtree. Wish me luck!<br /></span></div><br /><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153895041851083538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgivutzf-sLvJPx1gM972maBjkUSU6HbZgwV-7zkeWDUqNE6_BjepL5cBhv58wjIDbJGpCm3MwUM210HYceIt2pnZZjOwmIVHMqA1Bx8WZEUn_pYJElI3gWZi8-vIg5QQQspxYlYC5nwucO/s320/Home+109.jpg" border="0" /></span></div><br /></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-23951270334982812062007-12-31T07:05:00.000-08:002007-12-31T07:21:36.162-08:00Back in London UK Adventure Part 2<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">After a fantastic trip home to Sydney (have stuff to write and pictures to post but will do that next time) I arrived back in London last night. It was brilliant to go home and anyone I spoke to (cheers Vic, Anthony, Jo and Jonathon) in my last week in London before leaving will attest to this - I needed to go. I needed to touch base with Sydney, sun and my family to find my bearings. I realise now that I kind of lost my way a bit and certainly the level of excitement at undertaking this adventure was dwindling. Going home filled up the tanks again and I am looking forward to 2008 and finishing off my UK time with a smile and lots of memories to take home.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Unfortunately though I have to do that without Vic, who went home for good just after I left (but not according to her blog which has us still in Scotland. Update your blog woman!). Her not being here is kind of weird and I keep expecting to hear her key turning in the lock at the flat. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But 2008 is another beginning and I am very much looking forward to meeting new people, not yelling at different kids everyday (I will yell at the same ones everyday now) and seeing a bit more of the English countryside and Wales.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I've never been a good one for keeping New Year's Resolutions. The best I managed to do was give up ice cream for Lent once. Instead of a resolution for 2008 I just have a plan, to take one day at a time and to keep everything a simple as possible! </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Fingers crossed! Happy New Year!</span></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-11850832527676732222007-12-08T04:46:00.001-08:002008-03-01T09:44:17.539-08:00Going home for Christmas<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I am going home for Christmas. If you could see me now you would see I am jumping for joy.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Goodbye annoying children who yell at me with such attitude and vocabulary that is unnatural for 5 year olds. Goodbye yucky cold weather. Goodbye evil tube commuters who think it is acceptable to elbow me every 2 minutes.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And a big Goodbye to the woman in Primark who tripped me over on purpose by sticking her foot out. You didn't see Karen walking behind me with an arm full of clothes with coathangers and you got one in your face! As Karen said "That's feng shui for you!" Karma got you, b***h! </span><br /><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#33cc00;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:180%;"></span></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#33cc00;"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:180%;">HELLO SYDNEY!!!!!!</span></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:180%;color:#33cc00;"></span></strong></div><strong><span style="color:#33cc00;"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:180%;"></span></span></strong><br /><p><strong><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></strong></p><p><strong><span style="color:#33cc00;"><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:180%;"></span></span></strong></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141582817050585362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx-IP3Qp8P3BYOHMT_hSclM390m0wnswE8-aKG3Yde5RY8onCmHmXtQPCwtM3ih9607NP3yzNpetemuuj7yrJpD65vszmFNWQtpitoaFb0XLce08K8dNsStPKspySqb4y5cUXtInbIg8DC/s320/random%252Bnovember%252Bstuff%252B094.jpg" border="0" /></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Davina and I at her housewarming party last month. Martin and I cheated at drunken Scrabble and we still came last!</span>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-65827159333256095472007-11-24T06:09:00.000-08:002007-11-24T06:13:07.767-08:00Foxes make good walking companions<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I went to dinner last night with Shannon and Mary from my old school here in London and had a fantastic time catching up over marvellous food and drinks, but something has really got me freaked out. Mary was telling me how November is considered winter here. Sure, the weather sure feels like it but November at home is Spring. Shouldn’t that then mean that November over here should be Autumn since it should be the opposite? Mary then said that May 1st (May Day) was officially the first day of Summer here. That’s odd, as May is the last month of Autumn at home. I am well and truly confused. Probably not as confused as my English Year 1 class from last year, who I spent a term teaching the seasons to! </span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5136409300936064098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGqWHBOhrV6NdWUBQwQfn0Y7cQEdFg1qz5rZ1o0utnQvqnwFCRom-md10HKH-bKKc1j4E6QwpuB6bUXzi8GuVvRPpkLASUeltRwet_XsEHjM5CH8P1ZTyU14zuCIKyMESejqNJUSsorx1/s320/Mary,+Shannon+and+Me+231107.JPG" border="0" /> <p align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;color:#33ccff;">Photo - Mary, Shannon and I in Richmond, London. </span></em></p><em><span style="font-size:85%;color:#33ccff;"><p align="justify"></span></em>P.S: It is so cold at the moment. I swear I think that the ice caps aren’t melting; they’re just migrating to London!<br /><br />P.P.S: I was walking home last night and got the fright of my life when I glanced down and saw a fox walking beside me. Obviously thought I might like some company.<br /><br />P.P.P.S: I learnt this week that the best way to do a job interview is by phone. Because you can do it in your PJs and Ugg Boots! Wasn’t the greatest interview I’ve ever done (I could hear myself echo back through the phone) but was certainly the most comfortable!</span></p>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-54980867577131440892007-11-15T04:59:00.000-08:002007-11-18T07:12:53.542-08:00Davina Diary Blog<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Last week Davina, Rachel, Michelle and I were talking about blogs at Davina’s new Shepherd’s Bush house whilst she served pancakes and champagne for brunch (yes, I know I lead a privileged existence). We decided that Davina writes her blog as an eccentric diary which, knowing Davina, suits her very much. I tend to write my blog as an account of things that happen that are interesting (or at least I think so). This time, I thought I would give the eccentric diatribe a go…<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtSbC39hb2l03T8W92iAj461sjhyDZEqh9yVhQHtK97uf1A0aZ9OE5MMVmS__CPk3weFsx3EBuolEHNcbGtjY4A8HTNKg79-n-hau8dhQdYIg6ADvGYhgkznFNvifzLWwG_uS1VwJt1N95/s1600-h/DSC00062.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133052646555286562" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtSbC39hb2l03T8W92iAj461sjhyDZEqh9yVhQHtK97uf1A0aZ9OE5MMVmS__CPk3weFsx3EBuolEHNcbGtjY4A8HTNKg79-n-hau8dhQdYIg6ADvGYhgkznFNvifzLWwG_uS1VwJt1N95/s320/DSC00062.JPG" border="0" /></a>Things in London have been full steam ahead for a month now. We moved out of the Village in September and I am living in Tooting in South London. I’ve been working pretty steadily at a handful of schools and even got employed at a school for a day to put paper on display boards! That has been my favourite day working in London.<br /><br />Karen moved to Oxford with Richard as he studies for his MBA at Oxford University. I don’t know how she survives the daily 4 hour commute but she does seem really happy. Adriaan moved to Stanford Brook not that far from Chiswick.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7AB4CL5a8DSg-eshatzBvPEiCI8yEu2h71bONxqCMxNa5Kl5onI47LAg9N_-FdTDeqYfaK_BEy7yjWa6SLw2rikgeR1mZPFnfar0kllaMOqRPOp6Rvv0NeuCAVOFJM3H0P_ovuWN-SaX5/s1600-h/DSC00067.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133052818353978418" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7AB4CL5a8DSg-eshatzBvPEiCI8yEu2h71bONxqCMxNa5Kl5onI47LAg9N_-FdTDeqYfaK_BEy7yjWa6SLw2rikgeR1mZPFnfar0kllaMOqRPOp6Rvv0NeuCAVOFJM3H0P_ovuWN-SaX5/s320/DSC00067.JPG" border="0" /></a>I woke up one morning with the decision made that I wanted to come home. Working at a new school everyday was starting to get me down. I was sick of arguing with 9 year olds who thought that they knew everything (except what they were supposed to be doing in their learning task). Lo and behold, as soon as I made the mental decision to go home, I was offered a wonderful job at Balham. The times that I had taught there before I found it had taken me a long time to get there by bus, but I finally figured out that I could walk through the park opposite the Common and it would spit me out in front of the school. It is a Year 5 class and they seem like a decent bunch of kids. By this stage I had applied for some jobs at home and had heard nothing. But as is the way with life, I got a message asking me for a phone interview. So now I am back in limbo land. I feel like I am the rope in a very aggressive and close game of tug of war,<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGXzTZQyKvW43FMr5X8vZuwv3VonEcxqL64uLiA_nJ2x1gcd6IA-GULsG2uvLeNw6jgoJWJ2hA17ZIOZ6inVBiqJDNbfJbxgc2ds8_GOeeueeb7RzdTcbKyz9BSlmszvDdUxBUcrtqlXFG/s1600-h/DSC00077.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133053204901035090" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGXzTZQyKvW43FMr5X8vZuwv3VonEcxqL64uLiA_nJ2x1gcd6IA-GULsG2uvLeNw6jgoJWJ2hA17ZIOZ6inVBiqJDNbfJbxgc2ds8_GOeeueeb7RzdTcbKyz9BSlmszvDdUxBUcrtqlXFG/s320/DSC00077.JPG" border="0" /></a>I’ve been keeping busy regardless and find myself smiling and laughing at the strangest things. Like the day I walked home from the school in Balham through the park. It started pouring with rain, my umbrella was useless so I just pulled it down and walked through the streams of water with my iPod singing in my ears, I couldn’t physically get any more drenched so I just kept walking. As I neared the end, there was a couple sheltering under a tree. They had been riding their bikes through the park when the skies had opened. There was only room for one of them to be dry so the man stood over the woman covering her with his coat. It was such a lovely scene.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7-D4Ylb9ByavOtfAbKJOmSV6E47L1eUZdSCVfRN9j28iqz2_ACiexi_VJ9AyDkMn2Uv9Z5ByMPbs0whA1mvtYFOqaREBwojpOq1f7vdAV88Wg4kNVGqhgcKfAajsgiMAV2FB9q_WkjYvR/s1600-h/DSC00080.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133051443964443650" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7-D4Ylb9ByavOtfAbKJOmSV6E47L1eUZdSCVfRN9j28iqz2_ACiexi_VJ9AyDkMn2Uv9Z5ByMPbs0whA1mvtYFOqaREBwojpOq1f7vdAV88Wg4kNVGqhgcKfAajsgiMAV2FB9q_WkjYvR/s320/DSC00080.JPG" border="0" /></a>Last Saturday Vic moved out of her house. She is staying with me until she heads over to Ireland for her last trip before flying home. Instead of letting her sit at home feeling sad and sorry we went into Embankment to see the Lord Mayor’s fireworks display. Since that finished at 5:30pm, we then headed to the London Eye. I had been on the London Eye the last time I was here but had never been up at night time. It was even better as there were virtually no lines either. The skyline was littered with small bursts of fireworks displays left over from the previous week’s Guy Fawkes celebrations. The lights from London’s landmark buildings shone bright and the air was clear, mild yet crisp. You couldn’t have asked for a better night even if you ordered one from a catalogue 2 months in advance.<br /></div></span><div align="justify"><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwC6pQ4ZKLvhpEDqGeUNEcv-tpUh6Qzce8Nnp2IYicmzg2FIChz90Ym9wKErf-zCx8Uw_sDc8Kde0N8XJ4ReY_uJDkvGezRhaTJ8DtQsIUj-NRo9MGHYMjdONUQ5Xu48dNtRDUXfTgOOIy/s1600-h/DSC00082.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133052002310192146" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwC6pQ4ZKLvhpEDqGeUNEcv-tpUh6Qzce8Nnp2IYicmzg2FIChz90Ym9wKErf-zCx8Uw_sDc8Kde0N8XJ4ReY_uJDkvGezRhaTJ8DtQsIUj-NRo9MGHYMjdONUQ5Xu48dNtRDUXfTgOOIy/s320/DSC00082.JPG" border="0" /></a>London for me is a happy place at the moment. I can’t lose on the job front as if I get the job at home I will be excited to start something new. If I don’t then the job here in Balham will offer me the experience I need to teach in America (my next frontier to be conquered). Either way would be a blessing. As a result, I am a very happy young lady.</span></div><br /></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-83406861046473228072007-11-15T04:42:00.000-08:002007-11-15T04:58:53.866-08:00Scottish Soil<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL6196Z7WGe1R7VSa-8DwQqdyNWjseRXGqlYi8MMu_wi7w0v2FDzUMLjiItU7CXVcczsIHBTsVdx28IfAzljZYim4Cet97Uz5gzqv4-whdyuquHSlrk5BNyLflvkHXyDPdEN0YeRGYkDrZ/s1600-h/Scotland15.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133049253531122642" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL6196Z7WGe1R7VSa-8DwQqdyNWjseRXGqlYi8MMu_wi7w0v2FDzUMLjiItU7CXVcczsIHBTsVdx28IfAzljZYim4Cet97Uz5gzqv4-whdyuquHSlrk5BNyLflvkHXyDPdEN0YeRGYkDrZ/s320/Scotland15.jpg" border="0" /></a>I read somewhere recently that if you have any Scot in your blood you will feel instantly at home when your feet touch the soils of Scotland. Without better words to describe the feeling I would totally and utterly agree with this statement. Australia is my birthplace, England my home, Austria my favourite travel destination but it is Scotland that has my heart. Another week of school holidays meant that I finally had some time to head north and visit Scotland again. It had been 4 long years (to the day actually) since I last had the pleasure of travelling through Scotland and I had missed it deeply.<br /><br />Instead of flying I decided to drive instead. That decision had little to do with enjoying the English countryside and more to do with having not driven since 2006 and feeling the need to get behind the wheel again. I even managed to drag Vic along too.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZctN2iFIXpntU4MLeGHy42EZA1e6ixmKZiyL4kJdcFwwzx14Zyw7iO_Vf7-KlaTKP9e13CXXMKyG7Tt2o6mMtcPgDUpDFfrC31ZNOp4aSEjSE-OwjO3XDZx6nuS3uCKTkietwfh0HA1F/s1600-h/Scotland3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133048914228706242" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZctN2iFIXpntU4MLeGHy42EZA1e6ixmKZiyL4kJdcFwwzx14Zyw7iO_Vf7-KlaTKP9e13CXXMKyG7Tt2o6mMtcPgDUpDFfrC31ZNOp4aSEjSE-OwjO3XDZx6nuS3uCKTkietwfh0HA1F/s320/Scotland3.jpg" border="0" /></a>A while ago my parents had travelled to John O’Groats and my dad had spoken highly of it so I decided that that would be my intended destination. We stopped along the way whenever the urge took us and as a result, Vic and I stayed at some very interesting places. My favourite was the Royal Highland Hotel in Inverness with its tartan carpeted grand staircase and most amazing shower ever! I also loved “The Tickled Trout” hotel in Preston. I kid you not. Got to love a hotel that pays homage to a ticklish fish, but you do have to ask what kind of person thinks to tickle a fish. We were also strangely haunted by broken and lopsided lampshades. At no less than 3 different hotels the lampshades were broken and lopsided in our room.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQsp1IAzb9WbUBCyibZ1IBSH_Q6tT3GEEPTbdyfQbvgxV9BNX_ZNks0QXAvozOMpExVnlEEtWr_RXIhPVzRJyktahUGKIZjIBaqrQkBbxfm93UruCzW5KBJDlHoPXfFfBDhC46FEig7Zf/s1600-h/Scotland14.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133049515524127714" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQsp1IAzb9WbUBCyibZ1IBSH_Q6tT3GEEPTbdyfQbvgxV9BNX_ZNks0QXAvozOMpExVnlEEtWr_RXIhPVzRJyktahUGKIZjIBaqrQkBbxfm93UruCzW5KBJDlHoPXfFfBDhC46FEig7Zf/s320/Scotland14.jpg" border="0" /></a>The Highlands of Scotland were exactly the same as I had left them 4 years earlier, peaceful and calm, filled to the brim with history and the souls of Scotsmen and women from years past. Out of all the wonderful scenery we saw this time my favourite day was driving the entire length of the north side of the Loch Ness. With the autumn weather turning the leaves magnificent shades of gold, rust and copper I felt like I was wrapped warm and cosy by nature’s own hearth.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiilrOBsmjIkkYy9lSe7h6LeB0pXRyA2_Hivs4Z-hyf5p86rBLh69UTnBf-MyOdcEt_8ArvF_gsvkuuq0Fj_cVRww0Dfl1sWI_ouswQaWSvfLBLhgFn19C1pZUxBISa02rkoaldsNDcui15/s1600-h/Scotland29.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133049975085628402" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiilrOBsmjIkkYy9lSe7h6LeB0pXRyA2_Hivs4Z-hyf5p86rBLh69UTnBf-MyOdcEt_8ArvF_gsvkuuq0Fj_cVRww0Dfl1sWI_ouswQaWSvfLBLhgFn19C1pZUxBISa02rkoaldsNDcui15/s320/Scotland29.jpg" border="0" /></a>Vic and I took turns in driving. We put in an impressive 1768 miles all up. I found it slightly odd though, that fates dealt me all of the single lane width, unmarked and low visibility roads, whilst Vic got the double or more lanes with easy to see oncoming traffic and lovely new markings. The potholes shared themselves around evenly though. :P</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"><em>(Photos - 1. Me at John O'Groats, 2. Our car on the side of one of the many highland hills, 3. Some Highland cows, 4. Inverness)</em></span></div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877191199740967817.post-64903786735260468382007-11-04T08:10:00.000-08:002007-11-04T08:43:37.318-08:00Random London Happenings<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Last night saw London light up the night sky with a huge array of fireworks celebrating Guy Fawkes Night. I had been hanging out for Guy Fawkes Night after reading a book that had the characters watching the fireworks at a south London park. For some reason the imagery described stuck in my head and I wanted to be a part of the experience as well. After a little bit of research (I read the TNT magazine) I settled on Battersea Park and managed to get Nicola to come along to and she brought some of her friends. The £5 entry charge was well worth it with the fireworks going for a little over 30 minutes and the music that they were timed to was funky and fun. And you can't have fireworks without your own sparklers!</span></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129024961009220786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6yEfismfz3XFiXgL3kzKW7cayN6TrKE2i3SpHO-aLfqNQPl-le4GaSfAJwPLqo7t7ucfr7V_i3cfOyhX0y9Yb-rkJ5DEvD9fu6rzWHyhrTCEP-n2DtOX6bJ3cZYvQZtqg3pnkpCgWQvc/s320/Fireworks+Night+023.jpg" border="0" /> <p></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129023509310274674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1DKYQo0fizLayMKACvP-hsFELYx6kHts2r4o1omLCuQYUXwQzOhTd-hDRAxUgYN8AbHBJBHZ2R8wUXIPI5mFDn01WXFHdaya3gXZiDw3r2LKdcTtZxXBgDS5JV4Ej8SugTcoJsoRTqv1v/s320/Fireworks+Night+029.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129024119195630722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8x2E0CKniQO2g1rgPOJmsC0SqylmKQS8E-daRdTA3KtHA2N4Op16a6nbBHt2pNn3IWt31ldwXJGxw83FeN1VTGL-3aU-DIpuFKb64XKzfXtsDn0W8QUJ89Pe71KlfCoU07WNMoF3R_Zg4/s320/Fireworks+Night+012.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129024767735692450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0OXPWBf5UxTMJc1ZdXVT8vBxldr4-mZC1uCV4ncAoUxmXPaPwvfWDS5QGb3BJe9PjVSJfCiix9URHqzkjJ4F7eJUaCX5sLif7D-0NRzYF73zprW8p1jfFCQoAe8QeMj4CDp0SqQfuJtxX/s320/Fireworks+Night+016.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Other random things that have happened to me this week are:</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">** On Thursday I raced a man up the stairs at Tooting Broadway tube station. Well, I ran up the stairs and he ran up the escalator. I am pleased to announce that I won.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">** I am was in trouble on Friday because I taught a class their entire term's history work in one lesson and they are getting an Ofsted inspection this week. The teacher was not happy at all.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">** A lady rammed me with her trolley in Sainsbury's because apparently I was walking too slow. Have a sneaking suspicion that it was the woman with the walking frame in front of me that was holding the line up but I could be wrong.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">** The bus driver I had yesterday on my way to Shepherd's Bush yelled at everyone and all the traffic in very loud Polish. Was rather scary.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And that's about it. :)</span> </div>Alexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17374236669264169556noreply@blogger.com0