Smh In The Wild

October half term

Its been a manic few weeks since I came back from the bike ride. What should have been a reasonably well managed tranche of work has turned into a sprint to the line for the half term break. The two weeks of relaxed lunchtime meetings and catching up with working colleagues yielded four new jobs that needed to be designed and tendered for. Days spent surfing the net for suitable Landys and then taking afternoons out to go and test drive them halved my availability to work when I thought I had it covered. – WRONG !

Anyhow we are here in East Devon near to Lyme Regis the home of the Jurassic Coast. The mudstone cliffs yield up fossils of long past Dinosaurs (like myself) and attract beardy fossil hunters from world wide. We are here for a few cream teas and a few days of caravan confinement to recharge the batteries and family bonding. Despite Peters growing scepticism of the value of being penned into a 20 foot tin box with his parents he just about keeps a lid on his grumbles and plays along with his parental burden.

The added excitement of driving five hours in a Landrover was a great bonus (for us boys) and having arrived without incident we were delighted to tick another box of approval on my insane purchase justification sheet. In fact last night as the river Axe overflowed from the torrential rain and gale force wind we hit a 2ft deep flood that covered all 7 feet of the Landrover but we just sailed (almost literally) through. Already the snorkel and the beast have proved themselves – Hooray !

Shiny thing with a Snorkel

Having taken a week to research a whim I am now the proud owner of this Landy. I would love to say that the combination of good business profits, an aging Volvo, the need to pull the caravan, all coupled with the inspiration of the Steve Jobs speech led to a considered and well researched purchase - but that would not be wholly true.

This is one of those instinctive desires that suddenly surfaced and one that sets boys apart from girls (and all other politically defined gender preferences that appear on local government forms). Show a man or a boy a Landy and somewhere deep down something stirs, like the desire in bears to shit in the woods. These machines are the Dinky toys of mid life crises and creature comfort for the bored suburban man.

The shorter wheelbase, more family acceptable version was the first plan, attached to a modest budget. This new acquisition failed in all respects to meet any of the initial criteria being very large and almost new.

This machine has had one lady owner from Ascot who used it for the 7 seats and the daily school run. The only off road this vehicle has done is bumping up and down the curb as she failed to parallel park it four mornings out of five as little Sebastian and his public school mates piled out the back shouting “attack” which way is Sandhurst mummy?!

As much as I loved the soft roader Volvo it really did serve to show where my life was. Safe, comfortable, grey, and worse automatic. Perhaps because of all of these factors I am in a position to do this ridiculous thing and exploit this fleeting window of stability. I am back in manual and can go off road with impunity, genuinely SMH in the wild again.

Either way its done now and I am SO excited !

Shiny thing could not make it all better

Steven P. Jobs has died at the age of 56 and even me as an Apple blasphemer can see the significance of the loss but I cannot sign up to the constant Apple Moonie wailing and gnashing of teeth like the passing of a great prophet (perhaps that should be next year loss of profit). An inspirational entrepreneur and serial innovator who was able to wrap this up in his own denim clad style claimed personal electronics back for the new affluent youth. Brilliant.

There have been plenty of mails floating around with Jobs 2005 Stanford University speech imploring us to live life to the full and be reckless before we become entrenched and it is very good copy and fun to read. The irony is that the closing parts of the 2005 speech are about his cure from the cancer that just a few years later finally returned to kill him. Set against the live your own life, heady optimism message of the speech the painful and merciless end from cancer adds a little black irony to todays news. Mother nature is still stronger than the mighty Apple corporation.

Today as I drank my coffee I wondered if the world mourn Bill Gates in the same way as Jobs when he dies? Will anyone remember the invention of the windows system, word, excel and PowerPoint that still dominate our daily communications and how I am writing this blog now ?

What about the insane amounts of money ($35.5 BILLION) Gates has endowed and mobilised from people like Warren Buffet for HIV aids, malaria, child mortality, and famine relief that will continue to dwarf governmental aid programs long after Bill, Melinda and Warren have passed away.?

Of course he will not be offered the same ritual outpouring from the world of the shiny white Moonies.

On May 26th last year Apple became worth more than Microsoft at $222.12 Billion (compared to Microsoft's $219.18 billion) and it will be interesting to see if an Apple Foundation in Job’s name emerges.

For me that really will make things better and the Job’s legacy will then be more than an army of people attached to shiny white slabs of technology that become redundant the day they are released. He really will be making a lifetime difference for someone - just as he said in his speeches.

What's the difference – Well it depends where your values are I guess

Coast to Coast Video day 1

I have put this here for a few days just for fun. Day 2 will be much shorter as it rained the whole time !

 

 

Not in my back yard or in my comfort zone

Having been in France on holiday and then biking for a week I have not really been looking at the 24 hour news in the normal volumes that I consume. Its been interesting to note that “famine in the horn of Africa” story is still running. My first thought is what a strange piece of journalism to keep referring to Somalia as “the horn of Africa” I was trying to track down which organisation was using the phrase first. I think it started with the UN Horn of Africa drought appeal but who knows The main point is that no one trying to raise money for famine relief is actually saying the word Somalia.

On the 18th September The UN Office for humanitarian affairs reported that there were   “Approximately 750,000 Somalis including 490,000 in rural areas and 260,000 internally displaced persons (IDPs) in Mogadishu and the Afgooye corridor at risk and armed militia have reportedly shut down feeding centres in Lower Shabelle and Gedo regions, denying life-saving assistance to the drought-affected populations.

The news media has realised that this campaign is not getting the “live aid” attention from the public and has migrated the coverage to slow news days and late night coverage. “the horn of Africa drought and famine” was localised as the reports of Somalis crossing into Kenyan refugee camps became the easy and safe story to cover for Nairobi based journalists and TV crews. UNHCR reports that there are over 1.5 million displaced people in Somalia alone as a result of the dysfunctional state and the years of civil, religious and tribal war but no one reports this fact. The 500,000 refugees filmed by the TV crews, mostly Somali woman and children, arriving at Dadaab refugee camp in Kenya is more than enough to tell a simple story for a 4 minute news filler article.

Despite this low news coverage (and no sightings of of Bob Geldof or Bono) donations raised by the UK public is already at £53 million. The UNHCR budget for Somalia in 2011 is £45M, our own UK Govt has pledged £30M and there is a less than generous £5M from the EU for the whole drought affected area.  But there are numerous other examples of aid being given so money is arriving. However according to One Earth Future (OEF), a non-profit foundation studying piracy, the total ransom paid to Somali pirates for 2011 was a staggering £160M more than UK, EU and UN added together.

How do you balance this immoral equation in the mind of Joe Public from Basildon as we sit in the middle of the worst recession in living memory ?

To add insult to injury Somali insurgents have laid land mines along the Kenyan border and two international staff of Medcine Sans Frontiers were kidnapped from Dadaab by Somali gunmen. – Just defying belief.

It will almost certainly be up to unilateral intervention from Kenya to sort out Somalia in a protracted and messy borderless skirmish. Given that the west wants piracy ended and are worried about al-Qaida-linked militants in Somalia support for Kenyan military intervention will come from behind closed diplomatic doors. There will no doubt be some mock hand wringing from the liberal world community but little condemnation from governments faced with the bills of patrolling the Indian ocean and the lobbying of international shipping lines.

There is no easy solution for the estimated 11 Million people affected by draught in the Horn of Africa in 2011 and no sign of a live aid consensus anytime soon but £53M from the UK public still shows that the live aid sprit still runs deep. There is a case that if Somalia had oil, diamonds or mining assets then there may be more direct interest but they don’t and the Arab spring does. – It is a depressing and brain aching dilemma at a time of huge international distraction and national austerity and I don’t have the mental agility to reconcile it.

Goodbye horticulture

In September 1980 I knocked on the door of the National Farmers Union in Chichester and asked if anyone would give me a job. The chap told me to come back the next day and personally drove me to three companies for interviews. Mushrooms, tomatoes and flowers were on offer and I started my career as a flower pot filler for £47 a week.

All through my horticultural career there were people who went out of their way to give me a hand up. Just when I was languishing in a shed somewhere or working for a company that was going nowhere someone said “why don’t you come and do this”

To absolve my guilt I have done two non paid exec roles so that I can give my “hand up” to someone or something and pay back the industry that has given me a good living. NPTC the land based training and skills apprenticeships scheme finished earlier this year and now my chairmanship of BOPP comes to an end more or less today. The AGM has finished, we made a small profit and are in good shape and we have launched a process of handing the scheme over to a larger organisation. Apart from the vote next month this is my last appearance and the end of my payback to to horticulture.

As the technical seminar starts and the members debate the new government peat use reduction strategies I know that its time for me to leave – its not my world anymore …..

The cat ate your brothers eyes …

One of the delights of working in Kenya is the Daily Nation newspaper. Apart from being brilliantly sensationalist and not letting anyone get away from its grip it does run some fantastic headlines. If you combine the headlines with some brilliant  lying, cheating and misdemeanour by public servants you get this brilliant story.

Relatives of a road accident victim went to identify the poor chaps body only to find that his eyes and left ear were missing ! They were told that the body was intact when it arrived but cats and rats had eaten them. However it later transpired that two mortuary workers were arrested after being accused of trafficking body parts.

So if you go on EBay and find an ear and two eyes on a buy it now – don’t be tempted because they belong to poor old Eric !

Kenya morning

7 am and its dull and wet in Kenya. This is not supposed to be the rainy month but I am here and so it is raining. The traffic always comes to a complete stop in the rain as cars die, holes in the road become lakes and then even more cars get stuck in them. I only have a short walk to my first meeting but the dirty streets and the persistent rain means I will probably take the option of sitting in a car for 30 minutes as we drive around the block.

Thankfully this is a few low stress days of nice people working on a good project and I have a few days of getting back up to speed with what has gone on over the summer. I suspect that nothing much has happened as the summer holiday season has passed by with very little email.

This is my first hotel stay for a long while and I have to take care not to booze and snack binge my way through the boredom of the evenings alone in the hotel. I have been trying hard not to drink too much before the bike ride and this has to be a great excuse not to go back to the boredom driven excesses too soon.

I can’t believe it myself but I am actually thinking that I should go up to the gym this evening and join the other fat execs burning off a few layers of lard. What is happening in my brain I can’t tell, but given the choice of watching the football with a bottle of wine and a plate of cheesy nacho chips or running around a gym like a demented hamster in a wheel there used to be no competition.

Its all a bit scary really !

Nairobi evening

The huddle of people in the distance marks the arrivals area where you push and shove your way past relatives and the self appointed “official” helpers. Three or four taxi drivers and the same number of track suited youngsters extend grubby hands to carry your bags and attract your business for an unsuspecting tourist fee. As usual I drop my shoulder and push through to the calm at the end of the hall and they get the message that I am not a new visitor and quickly refocus on the rest of passengers coming through.

I am waiting for my driver who said he would be 30 minutes on his text message around 45 minutes ago and it is a sure reminder that I am back in Kenya. Slightly random and slightly frustrating but you cannot let it get to you. I had hoped to be at the hotel by now but here I am typing a post for the blog – what can I say ?

Swiss air arrived on time, was the hard seats and Ok food (as expected) but lacked that extra service culture that you get with some of the others. It is better that I arrive earlier but only if I don't waste an hour waiting for the driver but something will always go wrong on every trip – its just that you don’t know which part.

Zurich not quite the direct route to Kenya

Friday night and Saturday were great fun, the buzz of the cycle ride still in my head and enjoying being home again. I have constantly ignored work emails and requests for the last four weeks trying to have a real holiday and some focus for the boys away mission.

As the alarm clock rang at 2.30 am this morning I was really aware that life was now back on full and I need to focus. Its Sunday – sure – but there is no choice but to haul my still slightly sore backside out of bed and into the Taxi that will arrive in 45 minutes.

Swiss Air (which is really Lufthansa hiding under a convenience flag) was half the price of British airways for the flight to Nairobi so I am now at Zurich on a bus between terminals. The 6 am flight over the mountains, cows and valleys was very pretty for the last thirty minutes and right on time we are here into Zurich. No time for lounges or waiting as the Swiss time perfection leaves me a breathless 45 minutes to get across the airport, through security and onto the next plane.

I am hoping that Swiss will have the cabin and service quality of KLM or Air France but suspect that it will have the clinical sparseness of Lufthansa. Like a BMW or an Audi car you get hard seats, lots of grey and black, the basic but adequate efficient service. Having sat on a bike saddle for the last five days I was sort of hoping for a nice squashy seat, perhaps I should have brought one of those inflatable donuts that they use for the old folks !

One of the benefits of Swiss this time is that my Air France card is already at Platinum level for this year and so I do not need to collect their miles to keep my elite status. If I can manage two business class flights on Swiss I can get lounge access next year for the other big airline groups and so avoid all of the crowds, all of the time. Looking at the way they tight schedule these flights I am not sure I will ever see a lounge but I will certainly get fit running up and down escalators.

And finally ….

 

Back wheels in the Irish Sea Tuesday morning and today front wheels in the North Sea a better symbolic end to our journey and one that really does prove that we cycled coast to coast. – albeit a thin part of England !

Two hours to wait until our transport takes us back to Newcastle and we get the train home so its time to put back a few of the calories that we have burned off and toast our success.

Large cod and chips twice and some phone calls and texts to family are is all we have to do now …

 

Last day and the run to the coast

 

Consett B&B was quite weird and as we left about 9.30 and peddled up the steep hill to re-join the  cycle path I think both of us were struggling for leg power. Our last leg of the journey really actually felt physically like last legs but as the sugar in the sports drinks started to take effect we peddled on like machines for another 20 miles along the old railway track.

Gateshead and Newcastle came and went with the signs to Tynemouth stubbornly stuck at 10 miles for what seemed like ten more. Then without notice they changed from miles to Kilometres just to make the numbers even more meaningless. Trendy riverside cafes of Newcastle became derelict warehouses and flour mills before we hit the rough housing estates.

Technically downhill all the way the morning passed quickly and without event except for a pretty uninspired set of signs and no big sculpture at the end to mark your finish point just this crappy sign half way up a path covered in dog poo. Shouldn’t the cycle path end in the sea where it started instead of half way up the cliff ?

However - finally we were here and the speedo counters register a pretty respectable 148 miles and by the time we cycled back to the pick up point we have topped 150.

A cracking adventure with highs and lows by the hour ….. The question is ..What do we do next ?

 

Day three of the coast to coast ride

 

Day 3 and potentially the toughest day. Although yesterday was the most notorious climb, today brought two short and sharp climbs to the highest point of the trail and a day spent wholly on the moors. Leaving Alston in the light drizzle we were soon straight into some tough hills and some heavy showers. Within an hour we were fully in the clouds with rain falling all around. There is nothing up here just sheep, rain and clouds and lots of ups and downs. The ups were really tight steep curves and the downs long rough descents with the rain stinging your face at 35 mph.

The road in the picture is the climb we have just made showing all the work to get this far today. Our challenge was to climb a peak and have it negated as we sped down the other side only to meet another incline that returned us back to our previous altitude. Soul destroying in parts but gritty and challenging at other times – confusing emotions.

If the sun had been shining and the wind been less than 50mph I think this may have been a stunning days ride but today it was cold, wet and pretty unforgiving.

 

Soup and a big sigh of relief

 

We made it all the way to the top over some rough terrain and through one of the worst fatigues of my life. I cannot remember feeling so short of energy as my legs just refused to turn another time. The cafe here is just across the road and the rain is just about to start (again) so we are heading for sanctuary and some hot food. Ahead of us is a fantastic seven mile down hill ride to Alston and our B&B overnight stop. If my legs can get me 300 metres across the road then I can cruise all the way to my hot shower and an overnight bed – Pain and pleasure multiplied by ten thousand but awesome feeling.

 

Day two of the C2C ride

 

Day two dawned as grey and wet as Day 1 had finished. The incredible view of the hill from the back window of our room was lost under a low cloud that just cleared the top of the garden greenhouse. The first question of the day was can I stand ? ... then can I walk ? ... but so far so good !

Amazingly we were both in good shape and all worries of sore backsides and fatigue were forgotten as we had a good breakfast at the B&B and suited up in our wets to face the day. Our theory was that a quick sprint down the A66 to Penrith would get us out of the cloud and give us another four hour window to cycle in.

Today we end the day with the killer hill that takes us up to Hartside cafe. The 5 mile 2000 foot climb is a steady 1:5 gradient and tour de France quality for cyclists right at the end of our ride and I am sure my energy reserves and mental resolve.

 

I don't want to see the stone circle ....

Castlerigg Stone Circle is supposed to be one of the most visually impressive prehistoric monuments in Britain, and says it is the most visited stone circle in Cumbria. Every year thousands of people visit it and wonder why and when and by whom it was built.

On a day when we cycled 30 miles and the rain was coming down in torrents we were keen to avoid going up the long steep hill on the "alternative" route to see it. We checked the map, agreed and headed off up hill and sometime later there was the bloody stone circle !

The Coast to Coast (C2C) signs are variable to say the least and confusing at best. Another lesson learnt on our first day that we knew would come back to haunt us later too.

There are 38 stones in a circle approximately 30 metres in diameter. Within the ring is a rectangle of a further 10 standing stones. The tallest stone is 2.3 metres high but through the rain and the gloom I could just see the first few over the hedge as we peddled and panted past.

Thankfully we were now only 4 miles from the B&B, one more down hill and one more up before warmth and sanctuary

First day of the Coast to Coast ride

 

As expected the day started showery and blustery, the grey heavy clouds were low and there was no hope of seeing any of the much talked about views. A short trip down to the waterside for the customary posed photos by the start sign and dip our back wheels in the Irish Sea.

The first twelve miles were a steady uphill along the old railway path so no real steep inclines, plenty of dog poo and plenty of rubbish as we wondered what was in store ahead. Excitement and nervous adrenaline were pushing the pedals around and we were keen to avoid bolting and losing our unknown, untested but definitely limited reserves with less than 10% of our journey covered.

At 15 miles out the Whinlatter pass was the first real challenge of the adventure rising to 1000 feet above sea level with spectacular views of the Lake District and into Scotland – I was struggling to see the next 100 yards ! The clouds came down and the rain joined in for good measure and we resorted to wet weather gear.

Rising through the steepest part of the climb we catch one of the riders that went past us earlier in the day only to see him picked up by a rental van defeated. Cold and wet they guy has decided to make a fresh start tomorrow and to be honest you have to say he was right. This is no place to be if you do not feel on good form.

We are advised that Whinlatter is England's only true Mountain Forest by the sign boards as we flash past and speed down the hill on the other side of the pass towards Keswick. Great fun at almost 40 mph with roads like rivers sending plumes of spray off of our bike wheels. Disc brakes and hydraulics look like overkill on a bike but when you do this kind of thing it all suddenly makes sense. I am loving my new bike !

Almost by surprise we ambled along the cycle lane and arrived at Keswick. Bang on schedule and still reasonably dry overhead, we were about 7 miles to our journey end and decided to break for coffee and look at Derwent water. The monsoon that came across the hills and drowned Keswick ten minutes later was not unexpected.

We ducked for cover in and out of shops for over an hour but in the end there was no hiding. We have to move on, we have to go up the hill another ten miles to our B&B and the thought of a warm shower and a sit on a soft bed is better than another outdoor clothing shop.

The day is not over but almost done and I have a huge smile on my face. Unsure if that’s stupidity, pain or the G forces from the downhill thrash.

 

The only way is up !

Dipping our back wheels into the Irish Sea we face to the west and head off on what is the thick end of 150 miles of cycling. Last night in our culinary despair I was not sure how I would feel this morning but it feels fantastic. This is the end of the planning, the worry, the training, the endless purchases of widgets and gadgets.

I have thought about what I want from this journey and the main thing is I really want to enjoy it. If this whole journey is a painful badly conceived adventure then my new found hobby will find itself on Ebay next week. That's all too much to consider now and its positive heads on and pedals down for the next three days.

The night before the pedalling starts

After a day getting to Whitehaven by train and taxi we thought that a good meal to load our carbohydrates would be a good idea but what a shock Whitehaven was. The town is desolate and many of the shops are boarded up, as the rain started and the dark clouds made the night fall it was looking like no food for us. The chip shop closed at 8pm and lights were going off all around us as we struggled to find eateries that the B&B host had picked out as reliable.

In 2010 gunman, Derrick Bird, killed 12 people and injured 11 others before killing himself and we were walking past the same taxi rank where three cabbies dozed waiting for who knows ? Our spirits like our coats were being dampened by the grim infamy, the wind and rain. Thoughts of a hearty send off supper changed to a simple search for anything that was open.

This harbour side cafe was empty (but open at least) and actually served up some passable pasta and meatballs that we munched looking out at the marker that is the start of the C2C. The tune of “Things can only get better” went through my head and I wondered how the next three nights would pan out. We can’t forage for food in rain soaked closed towns after a 35 mile bike ride. Should I have booked at hotels or pubs and just walked downstairs to the bar ?

Too late now …..

No more waiting...

The waiting and prep is here disguised as two body bags in the hall. A huge amount of kit that looks more like a trans sahara mission than a cycle across the pennines.

Great feeling today, all excitement and expectation and none of the nerves and I suppose that dogged my early training.

We are captives of British Rail this morning and I am still not convinced we will get both us and the bikes on the train.

Newcastle awaits this afternoon and our first day tomorrow will start with dipping our bike wheels in the irish sea at Whitehaven.

Its a mech hanger stupid …

Its like entering a different world, mountain biking is a bit like surfing or skate boarding where labels are everywhere and the price tags start ten times what you would expect. When I started this adventure back in January I was your average fat bloke on a bike and was not going to be seduced by base layers or free riding tyres. Tesco T shirts and some e-bay tyres only lacked the labels as far as I was concerned. I may not be fit but they were certainly fit for purpose.

Almost nine months on and he horrible truth is that although 50% of the cost may be the label this stuff is really engineered to the toughest degree. Tyres built for mud will make cycling on a hard packed trail feel like riding through treacle, T shirts get wet with sweat within 20 minutes and you ride home like a damp dog where a base layer lets you perspire and stay dry.

Suddenly rides are now 20 miles and not 5 and so if you get a puncture its a ten mile and three hour walk home so puncture kits and spare tubes become essential kit to carry, chain breakers and chain links, Allen keys, cable ties, duck tape and spanners. Rutland water is hardly the outback but its a long way to walk back for sure !

These rather nice pieces of metal are Mech Hangers or “drop outs” in the jargon which to you and me are the parts that connect the back gears to the frame. They are made of aero grade alloy and are beautifully machined but wholly anonymous parts of your bike. Ask any bike shop dude and he would never even ride around to the news agent without a spare in his bag. – Today its another ten quid in the rucksack and something else to think about.

Yesterday I found out that my hydraulic disc brakes (yes no cables these days !) have pads that are designed to last about 200KM (125 miles) off road  and are likely to need replacements every three to four months – Oh and you should always carry a set in your bag. “Which type do you want” the bike shop dude asks “organic, resin, sintered…. Shimano or Clarke”

As I am puffing my way around another east Anglian reservoir with what amounts to an AA truck of bike spares on my back I can still spare a thought for the fat bloke in the Tesco T shirt sitting by the road side phoning his wife to pick him up – I have been there and although still horribly lost in bike world I still feel like I am in a slightly better place.

Even if my bank account is not !…..

Its almost time

About 30 minutes into 2011 and Gary says “we need a challenge dude, we can’t go through the whole of 2011 working and whinging” The question in my mind is what to do that would fit in with Gary and his enthusiasm for the active life and my enthusiasm for soft chairs and red wine.

A plan was hatched sometime on new years day that we would ride the coast to coast cycle route (C2C) sometime in September if training and schedules would allow. 140 miles in four days up and down some really nasty hills sounded more than we could imagine back in January but you have to start somewhere.

The trip was booked early on with small deposits for B&B rooms along the way, enough money to make it feel like it would happen but not enough to worry if either of us had to pull out. My mind was made up that it would not be me and three days after new year I was already onto the bargain websites buying every piece of clothing and kit you can imagine. Its certainly true that there is no substitute for fitness and even if you dress like a pro you will still ride like a granny unless you put in the miles.

Given that I have had almost fifteen years of sedentary life with red wine and coffee as my healthy diet I figured I would need the whole year to get ready. With one week to go I am not sure I am ready ands although I can easily cover thirty five miles in a day I am not sure if I can do that for four days in row. Each month since January I have covered about thirty miles a week and I have to say that my overall physical fitness has come along very well. Mentally I am still weak and when I see a hill I am already working out at which point I have to get off and walk.

Physically I don’t think its my stamina as much as my backside (which is a slight irony given that I have been sitting on it for the majority of the last 20 years) that is still not tough enough to do the job. Despite changing saddles twice, padded pants, special shorts and a lot of pain the weak link is definitely my bum.

As I enter this last week of preparation I am torn between doing some extra miles to get my legs stronger at the expense of a few extra layers of cells of my hairy derriere. One thing is for sure 140 miles of sitting on a saddle is going to leave me with rump steak for a scrotum !

Too much information ? – Yes probably ….

Buffalo Grill

Buffalo Grill and E Leclerc supermarkets are those things that have been part of our French holidays for almost twenty years. Emerging from the ferry into the grim grey northern French weather (expecting sun and not finding it) we always pass by the Buffalo Grill and wonder what it is all about. I love the daft red roof and the big white logo and we always comment but never wander in. Its France after all and we should be delighting in the cuisine of life not gulping back beef steak and chips in a theme restaurant chain.

HEY ! – but here we are !

Peter wanted to come here and so as we arrive to wait for the ferry we say why not ? – Actually I think we all wanted to come here but Peter was the only one brave enough to suggest it.

We had some very passable Limousin  steak and I even wonder if I cycled past the cow I just consumed as I sawed through the juicy and beautifully cooked steak. In about two hours we will be back in the cabin on the ferry and tomorrow we will emerge into the back end of Portsmouth ferry port and be reminded that we are once again – Home

Finally a happy ending

Back at the house in Parsac after a long but uneventful drive back through half of France. Over six hours of driving and still only half way to the ferry but tonight we have had a last bar-b-q and Sue and Peter are skinny dipping in the pool under a warm starlit sky. This is the vision that we though would be normal for the evenings here and now we can finally say goodbye to the house with a smile. Tomorrow after breakfast we make for the ferry but for now the evening is warm, the bats are doing some stunt flying for us and the wine is still cool.

Just one more day…and then one more

Today was to be our last day before we drive back up to the house at Parsac tomorrow but as we wander the wide boulevards of the city (and window shop for shoes) it just seems to good to leave. Do we really want to pack up tomorrow and head into what the French weather service refers to as “difficult local conditions” . Our experience of the French Meteo is that this means bloody wet and that is not going to get us to dig our roots out from here and go and light a fire back at the house.

********  UPDATE  ********

The hotel are OK for us to stay another night so tomorrow has become another day and not our last day – Just the job !

Going home from the beach

I have been sleeping for almost the whole afternoon. Laying on a towel and listening to a Terry Pratchet Discworld audiobook. A few tins of beer to keep me from dehydrating and the day has just slipped past. The beach is only about thirty minutes from the hotel and although pretty busy there is loads space for everyone. Peter has been gone all afternoon snorkelling, Sue has migrated in and out of the water and apart from me having to smoke about 40 cigarettes courtesy of almost everyone on the beach it could not be better.

On the way here today we retraced our steps past the campsite of 2005 where campers were piled on top of each other, kids played on bikes into the early hours of the morning but we had a great time. Its amazing how what looks like holiday hell can become great when the weather is good and the lifestyle allows time to kick back and swallow it all up.

When retirement becomes reality I can see some nice late summer sojourns to this part of the coast. Six weeks of Petit Carmargue seems like a great way to ease through the dull grey English autumn.

Back to Aigues Mortes

One of my favourite places anywhere in the world and one of the most unlikely for me to like. Deep in the Petit Camargue amongst the salt marshes is this little fortified outpost of what should be dreadful touristique tat. But somehow the sheer charm and beauty of the place shines through and even the shops selling a mixture of artisan hippy and southern med kitsch rub shoulders seamlessly.

Its a great chance to buy a few things, drink some beer and enjoy the warmth of the sun that will climb high toward forty degrees before tonight. All of the things that we were missing in our house in Parsac are here in abundance and made all the better by the thought that there is no hurry to dodge the showers.

in it has been six years since we were last here and time here has stood still for me. The streets seem so familiar and the feeling of total relaxation has returned – brilliant !

Finally warm

Restart the holiday. Six driving hours later and add another fifteen degrees to the thermometer the world looks very different. Comedy square in Montpellier wit the cafes and bars busy in the heat of the evening. Buskers play Spanish style guitars and we drink cold rose wine and wonder what went wrong.

Every time we bite the bullet and come to the south of France it works. The weather, the food, the ambiance, it all just comes together to satisfy a little part of our tired souls. But back home in the Autumn we always wonder “do we really have to go that far? – Could we get away with just one day of driving ?” and we make a fatal mistake of booking a half way solution.

As the warm evening air massages the tension out of my shoulders and the rose wine muddles my brain I make a resolution not to listen to sense and reason any more. – Its south or something else but not halfway anymore

Novotel Suites Montpellier

Its not five star but its expensive enough that this better work out. The wonders of mobile internet and Expedia have got us a three person room for a hundred quid a night and only a ten minute walk from the historic centre of town. Two rooms with a kitchen and a microwave make this hotel a sort of self catering travelodge. The dear old Volvo is now snug in the underground car park having dragged us out of another wet holiday adventure and we are heading off into town on the €5 for everyone all day tram ticket. – Let the holiday re-hab commence !!

Due south ….

This would not be the first time in our lives, and I guess it will not be the last, that we consult the French weather website and decide to head due south. The first time we were in a 2CV and drove for two days to Montpellier, last year we pulled the caravan from the northern alps to Clermont Ferrand. This evening is warm and bright and we are enjoying a few merguez sausages on the terrace but the weather forecast for the next week is grim. There is little we can do but consult the web and find a hotel in the sunnier parts of France.

Without a tent or caravan we are less mobile than usual and the thought of the rent clock still ticking as we are paying hotel fees is tough on the budget. We have always taken the view that wasted money is worse than paying more to get what we really want so we bite the bullet and make the booking. I have found a Hotel in Montpellier and tomorrow we will drive the four hours south to the sun, cafes and bars that we have so clearly lacked in our first week here. Montpellier and Aigues Mortes has an abundance of both

Its a sunny day

The sun arrives and the blow up chairs are out. Thirty degrees and some more as we sit by the pool and fry our lardy selves in copious amounts of sun oil. The pool is still pretty cold having had three days of cloudy weather but Peter seems braver than most and oblivious to the chill of the water.

This pool area is great, but spoilt by the fact that we are surrounded on three sides by six dogs (or more) that bark, and yap and howl the whole time. To be fair this is rural France and these are peoples homes but while you sit by the pool thinking of a quiet life the last thing you need is some mad French mutt barking its head off. WE have the same problem at home with the dogs next door who have no brains and are always barking at themselves. Getting away from the foul pooches next door and laying by the pool in the quiet of the afternoon sun was definitely on the agenda for this week.

The whole idea of getting the house was that the pool at the campsites is always totally invaded by foul euro-teens that want to wrestle and barge each other into the water for ten hours a day. The pool becomes a sort of writhing euro-teen soup Jacuzzi where anyone who wants to either bob along aimlessly or swim more than thee metres gets dived on, sunk or battered. Obviously the sun beds are always taken by the Germans and there does not need to be anything written on towel tactics and any spare space is taken up by Euro-parents who want to try and break the smoking record before the pool closes.

Listing the foulness of the campsite pool does make a dog chorus seem slightly more acceptable but given the beautiful tranquil surroundings it is rather harder to ignore than it might otherwise be. For me its no problem, I don’t like swimming pools and I have my earplugs in my ears listing to an audio book. For the two pool lovers in the family I can see clouds on the horizon.

A day at the lake.. or under it

The lac de Vassivière is one of France's largest lakes, in fact a large reservoir, about 10 square kilometres in area and more like the kind of scenery we are looking for. Its a brilliant hot day and despite the one hour drive to the area we arrive optimistic and ready for a bit of French lake swimming. The car has the usual big bag of cheese, meat and beer and we spend a happy day at the lake swimming and getting a bit scorched under the hot sun.

The most excitement that we had during the day was falling off the pedal powered surf bikes. Both Peter and me fell off in quick succession as the narrow surf boards (with saddles and pedals) were found to be very fast across the water but massively unstable.

Peter got caught by a cross wake from a boat and went overboard in fine style and as I circled him to see if he was OK my board capsized too. Peter was able to get his board upright and through some amazing wobbling acrobatics got back on. My life jacket (which was compulsory and amazing for France that any one insisted !) came up over my head like a toilet tube as I went under the water and I was unable to get my arms above horizontal when I came up.As a result of this rather odd roast chicken trussed position I decided to swim on my side pulling the craft to shallow water I must have looked like a disabled guinea pig.

Clothed in shorts and a T shirt and still wearing my sun glasses I flopped and squelched onto the shoreline pulling my cycle board trying to smile and not puff too hard. Having provided much entertainment for a good hundred people sitting on the beach I decided that to remount the bike and cycle off again was required and so a bravado mini lap of the beach area was performed.

Peter meanwhile had cycled back out into the lake to retrieve his shoes which he had lost while turning over. Several abortive laps and more acrobatic wobbling retrieved one shoe but the other bolted for freedom into the swimming area. (later to be retrieved by Sue). We were without doubt the height of the entertainment for a while and a small queue formed for thje boards after we finished so we no doubt inspired a few teenagers with our acrobatics – or like a disabled guinea pig swimming ?

All in all a fun day out and our first real tourism adventure since we arrived…. now we need to find a few more.

Show me some stuff

After a few days of saying how nice and quiet the countryside is we are starting to feel like there should be something to look at. Sure, there are cows and hills and cows and trees and more cows but little that inspires the holiday gene embedded in our heads. We are rested now, topped up and out of sleep overdraft and ready for a minor adventure each day.

The small villages and hamlets all around are really, really small with no bar or cafe and occasionally a bread shop that opens for 15 minutes via a hidden back door early in the morning. Basically there is nothing …. but we did find this pile of big rocks.

On top of a local hill there is a little car park and climb through the woods to this very strange collection of piled up rocks. It looks as if the gods were playing around or a few aliens came down and messed about one evening. There are no signs or information to speak of and the usual French level of nothing which means you can clamber about, climb and generally try and hurt yourself where as in England this lot would be fenced off with warning signs and a ten quid car park charge.

Somewhere in France .. Day 1

And so the holiday begins after six hours of driving. As usual the morning was dull and grey with intermittent rain as we set our course firmly south. The centre of France, the middle of no where in a village that has actually nothing but a few houses and now us. The plan is to lay by the pool in the garden and once a day I will cycle off and get in some much needed exercise for a couple of hours.

This whole house is ours. Four bedrooms, a barn, out buildings and even more rooms out the back adjoining the pool area the place is huge. Inside it is sort of tatty like student digs. Sofas are a bit worn and everything is left over from somewhere and obviously the owners are not bothered if it gets nicked or damaged. Its a bit run down all around but when the sun shines and you are in France I guess that is what you sign up for.

The sun has thankfully appeared this evening and we will at least get a smile on our faces. The forecast for the next two days is not great for the whole of France and I can see that we will have to drive about a bit to entertain ourselves until the sun emerges.

Another day – another mountain bike

As a sort of sequel to yesterdays mountain bike drama I thought I would post a nice photo of the new beast. It was almost twice what I paid for the Bianchi a year or so ago so in theory this should go twice as fast with half the effort. As it turns out the best thing about this new steed is the rear suspension (the Bianchi was called a “hard tail” as it had none) and as I blasted around Grafham Water in the sun today my backside was indeed grateful for the extra money spent.

The new bike actually looked much sexier when it first arrived without the mudguards, bottle rack, toolkits and all the stuff that I have collected and strapped on during my year of cycling mishaps. At least the bike is now fully tooled up for some charging around France in a few days time.

Busy day at the lake

I am trying to get three reports written in four days so we can head to France for a work free holiday. No guilt, no clients chasing and some nice invoices being paid into my bank while we are away. But today the sun is shining and the birds are singing and the weatherman says there is only one day left before the end of the summer (again). I decide that pounding around the lanes of Buckden and Huntingdon will not do justice to the last sunny day of summer and I will take myself off to Rutland Water for a quick 20 mile blast around the lake.

HOWEVER ……

Ten miles in to the ride when I am flying around the back of the lake (this is all relative to me being unfit and nearly fifty) and disaster strikes when my back wheel starts to make a really bad noise. Within a few scary yards I manage to pull the bike to a stop and inelegantly execute a minor falling dismount into some soft grass (and sheep poo) which cannot be really called an accident.

I look at the back wheel of the bike and find that six spokes have pulled through the rim and I have a wheel shaped like banana !

First instinct is always to throw in the towel and call for the pit crew but after twenty minutes of phoning home it was clear that I was on my own and there was a ten mile walk back to the car. This is rural Rutland and only a mile from the centre of Oakham so I am hardly stuck in the wilderness but it is still a bit embarrassing walking along the road with a bent bike and looking like a second hand Star Wars trooper in my funny helmet and sunglasses.

After about a mile of walking I noticed that the wheel seemed to be flexible and after some work with the tool kit I managed to remove another few spokes and get the wheel straight. It looked odd but when I tried it the wheel took my weight and rather slowly and with some odd grinding noises I made it back the car park and the bike repair shop.

At the Rutland Cycles shop I took the bike to see the repair guys who gave it the sucking teeth and shaking heads look. “you hit this hard man” the young cyclo-dude said “yooove bin crankin it up right?”. Slightly embarrassed by the respect from the cyclo-dude I splutter that I was just having some fun and it broke “yeah-right” they nod and look at me like I have had some major 30 foot drop into a canyon.

The news comes that the wheel is shot and the new wheel will take three weeks to order and cost half the value of a the bike to repair ! – AAArrrggghhhh.

The woolly hatted techno-dude (hatted despite it being 30 degrees in the shade) says he can repair the wheel eventually when the parts arrive but it will just happen again and again if I keep “hittin it on the trail” like this.

Apart from the obvious delight of being mistaken for someone who is capable of more than more than a two hour wobble around a reservoir (at a speed that threatens only the lamest of the fat sheep) I chat to what is now a group of three assembled Cyclo-dudes about what to do next. I get lost in the techno-chat about hoops and hubs, six bolts and eight, splines and shafts but nod approvingly when I see they are all on the same track. They pass my wheel around and inspect it like a dead fish.

The consensus is that I am “banging my bike” too hard and that the bike I have is more for recreation than for trails. My now broken bike is a good quality bike and they suggest I should complain about the broken wheel but also resist “bustin down the trails” with it again. Tree roots and stones in the track are the worst they tell me and thinking back to a few weeks ago that is just what Peter and I were doing in the Sussex countryside – OOppps !

While the Techno-dude is putting my broken bike back together I wander upstairs to the showroom and look at the rows of gleaming new bikes each claiming to be XC or Downhill or Competition and I am wondering where the section for slightly quicker than a sheep section is.

The woolly hat Techno-dude comes up to tell me my bike is ready to take away and points to a nice looking bike. “That’s a beaut for weekend ball busters, you wouldn’t compete with it, but for getting out with the guys and pegging it about the woods its a beaut” I ask him if it will break like the last one and he says he has one and one of his mates has an earlier version and they love it. – Keer-ching ! Its a sale already in my head and after swallowing hard at the price tag decide to take the big jump.

A sales-dude is found who seems a bit lost at the activity and two of the earlier cyclo-dudes come up to the sales area and debate the purchase. Much nodding and smiling and it seems that woolly-hat techo-dude has made a good choice for me. “Make sure he has the V12 pedals not the V8 and change the seat post for the FX at no cost” is shouted down to Techno-dude as the bike is wheeled away to prepare. The group finally disperse chatting about pedals and a few minutes later techno-dude presents me with my bike. He pushes his fist onto my shoulder and grins “enjoy” and heads back to his workshop. Is that a dude respect handshake or sympathy for the mug who finally bought the bike they couldn’t shift ??

For a while I was twenty years old again and “hangin” with the young dudes and debating the trail. Their view of my sheep harassing accident is obviously a far better one where I am  “hittin the trail” and “bustin my balls on a tricky woodland downhill” 

I will adopt their story in later life I am sure, but for now I am back to being an old bloke in a Volvo estate with a sore backside, two bikes and an empty wallet.

Funny old day and still a report to write …..

Apple has more cash to spend than the United States government.

The latest figures from the US Treasury Department show that the country has an operating cash balance of $73.7bn (£45.3bn) while Apple's most recent financial results put its reserves at $76.4bn according to the BBC

The United States is currently spending around $200bn more than it collects in revenue every month while Apple, on the other hand, is making money hand over fist and has just become the worlds largest manufacturer of smartphones.

Despite my obvious hostility to all things “shiny and white” you have to take your hat off to this triumph of perfect form over debatable function. A triumph of marketing that drives the stock market up while the US state seem unable to do anything but drive the market and their credit rating down.

With more than $75bn either sitting in the bank or in easily accessible assets, there has been enormous speculation about what Apple will do with the money. Buying US treasury stock is certainly not going to be high on their list at this time.

My suggestion would be to spend it on better batteries and better antennae for the next generation of phones or perhaps be really radical and make their devices compatible with generic power leads that don’t cost £30 each from the Apple store.

It will be interesting to see what happens when the darling of the Guardian readers suddenly looks bigger and greedier than dear old Microsoft. Seattle's long maligned giant has long been the target of anti competitive rhetoric and accused of making obscene profits but now the famous white knight of the techno-liberals is about to become the king of cash.

Perhaps I am losing it ….

 

This week the quiz is “what have the two pictures above got in common ?” – No Idea …. I hear you say ?

Well here is a clue…..

The sock is a ‘gold toe’ sock available at Macy’s department stores across America and quite often on offer at a good price if you buy a three pack. When in America I always go to Macy’s and buy a pack….. Yes …sock shopping in America.

The toilet roll is called ‘Charmin’ (now renamed Cushelle) sold by the cute bears who presumably head to the woods (as bears allegedly do) to do their bear like business. It is thick and quilted, ferociously expensive and seems to be in and out of supermarket availability for long periods. We have to buy it when we see it causing red faces at the checkout as we look like people with dysentery or a retro family expecting a nuclear war next week.

OK – to be fair no one is going to get this riddle as it is too weird !.

The answer is that both of these products represent a triumph of traditional quality and functionality in the mundane but essential objects of our lives department. Quality and functionality is something that is currently really lacking in the downward drive towards towards cheaper and crappier commoditised products.

Everywhere today the mundane but essential objects in our lives are being sold cheaper, two for one, 50% free but always at a price. If you pay cheap you get rubbish, something has to give, and in the examples above I have found brands that I don’t just ‘like’ - but positively need.

OK lets face it there are two things going on here….

I am sick of sticking my toe through my sock after three uses or getting an unpleasant “paperwork experience” after a NO.2 adventure – but either way unexpected holes in both of these products are really, really undesirable.

The second thing (and slightly more alarming in a wider sense) is that these things are becoming important enough for me to make a point to go and seek out these products - or force my poor wife into my spiral of obsession.

I am unsure if this is some sign of old age obsessive behaviour, too much time on my hands, or just a backlash against products being reduced in price and quality until they actually cease to perform what they say they do on the packet. I want to write to someone, somewhere and say “I don’t mind paying the price if it works, but I hate paying half the price for something that is rubbish”.

Basically don't tell me you are doing me a favour by cutting the price in half without asking me if I want to accidentally stick my finger up my bum as a consequence !!!

Its rather comical that such mundane items like socks and toilet paper have featured high enough on my agenda suddenly but somewhere in my sub conscious something shouted  - ENOUGH ALREADY ! – probably as my toe (or finger) went through for the tenth time in a month

Its a slippery slope for sure but one that I seem powerless to resist……… just don’t shake my hand to congratulate me

Old Shoreham bridge

 

Job done ! – We almost sprinted the last 15 miles this morning and have arrived an hour ahead of schedule at the collection point. The cool Sussex morning never really got going before we had finished the ride so we can look forward to a long afternoon in the sun and a few celebration beers.

Although only 45 miles over a couple of days (so hardly the tour de France) I hope that this might give us a few pointers to things that Peter and I can do in the future. Great time to spend together outside in the fresh air and a good balance to our busy work lives and school homework. I wonder how long going on a cycle adventure with dad will be an attractive option rather than a chore that keeps the old boy happy !

I am already thinking about what we can do next year and we are only 15 minutes from the end of the last one. The Devon Coast to Coast looks favourite from Ilfracombe on Devon's north coast to Plymouth in the south. This follows the western flank of Dartmoor and again largely traces the course of the former railway lines. – Sounds perfect … but I must get a softer saddle first !

 

Southwater sleepover

Twenty six miles, two minor crashes and a sore backside later and we are at our overnight stop. It has been great fun raging through the forest tracks on the bikes but trying to find the path navigation was a nightmare. Vandalism, competing paths (like the south downs way and national cycle routes) seem to lead off in all directions. A railway tunnel closed to cyclists and horses (as there were no lights inside !) took us up and over a big woodland hill that added and extra few uphill miles too. Most of the problems were delays rather than wasted extra miles and we are now at our journeys end for the night.

A long shower, find a pub and eat lots of good grub is the new agenda once we find the B&B that is somewhere close to here …… Now where did we put that map ?

Start of the adventure

This is the top of St Martha’s Hill near Guildford where the Downs Link trail starts. Forty five miles of footpaths and old railway track will take us through the Surrey and Sussex countryside down to Shoreham. We have booked a B&B overnight at Southwater and we are looking to some good boys on bikes bonding time after our busy year.

The Downs Link follows for much of its route the course of two dismantled railways - the Cranleigh Line and the Steyning Line - both of which closed in the 1960s as a result of the Beeching axe.

The first part of the trail is tough with narrow and hilly paths that were not part of the original railway so we have to navigate those first. The good news is that the second day is largely down hill to join the river Adur valley and on to the pub where we will be collected.

The sun is shining and we are wearing our padded pants – let the adventure commence !

 

End of the line

The Bluebell line steam railway and vintage signs adorn the fences. Several signs for the News Of The World catch my attention when at any other time I would not even notice them as we walk towards the trains. Like many of the other brands of cigarettes and hot drinks advertised on the old faded enamel signs the 168 years of sensational stories and scoops in the NOTW will have reached the end of the line.

Another birthday

Twelve years ago we were very, very hot and bewildered new parents at Swindon hospital. at 7.10 am Peter stuck his head out and peed all over the nurse.

This morning we are in beautiful West Sussex to enjoy a weekend celebration with my parents before a boys-on-bikes two day cycle ride through the heart of the countryside. The weather is looking good and this will be a perfect weekend to unwind and enjoy some quality time with family.

Its been a tough year of new school and adjustment to growing up, but the academic results and particularly the comments from teachers show that Peter has risen to the challenge in fine style. I guess there was never a doubt that he would make it all work but the amount of angst and worry that goes with it is not comfortable for Peter and us alike.

We have six weeks ahead now of holiday and family time – time to forget work and school until September !

Where in the world …

I am sitting here munching one of my favourite foods. Tuna and bean salad, Bruschetta washed down with a glass of white wine. The mandolins and Dean Martin songs alternate from speakers somewhere behind the plastic grapes and the chianti bottles. A disappointing Saturday afternoon of grey clouds and  intermittent showers seem to drift away in this little cafe in a Peterborough shopping centre !!

YUP –  this is Fratellis a little corner of Sicily, an oasis of fantastic food and friendly service transplanted into this rather tired  Peterborough shopping centre next to Asda

If I sit here and don't look to my left I can imagine that I am not in England and I am not in Peterborough but 1200 miles further south in Palermo – warm, sunny, relaxed and retired. Emerging into the Asda car park in 30 minutes will be quite a shock.

Late in the lounge …

Its the message that we all hate to hear “Flight KQ101 has been delayed due to a technical issue. Our teams are working on it and will try to get you in the air as soon as possible”

One positive side I am at least in the business lounge and not in the heat and smell of the main, over crowded and under equipped terminal. On the negative side this is Kenya airways and they don't have spare planes that can make the trip to London. It could be hours or it could be a go home and come back tomorrow at this stage we don't know.

Its always the same when someone says “technical fault” and the mind starts to wonder how serious the fault is. Could it be cracks in the wing or has the in flight video player jammed – we will never know.

At this time of night only 12 passengers are left in the lounge but somewhere sweating on some hard plastic seats are 300 other passengers. The Kenya airways flight is always heavily populated with children and babies who by this time of night are already hot, tired and scratchy. I try to feel sympathy for the parents but end up feeling more relief that I am no where near !

Its time for another glass of red wine, another bag of peanuts and wait to see what three Kenyans and a hammer can achieve in the next few hours

 

**********   UPDATE : 1.00am and we are told that we will take off at 2.00am – Just two hours late   **********

Anyone for twister ?

Outside my hotel room I am puzzled by this rather interesting sculpture. As much as I am sure that it is a lovely piece of local art from a very talented artist it just begs to be the subject of a caption competition. I am sure that one of the characters is saying “I am sure it said “left leg over BEFORE right Betty…Kama sutra page 65 didn’t look like this”

I am sure that hundreds of guests walk past this statue every day and do not notice it but the more I look the more puzzled I become. Last week I noticed a Horse with a lampshade on its head outside of the BA lounge in London, I am starting to notice these things more and am unsure if there is simply more art or I am becoming even more aware of silly looking objects.

Another Nairobi Morning

Twelve floors up overlooking a shopping centre car park is not quite what people think a trip to Kenya looks like. I arrived this morning at 6.00am and despite my rapid transit through the airport we have taken almost 1.5 hours to make the 15 mile journey from the airport.

A quick change and a shower and let the meetings begin. No time to enjoy my nice big room or go for the massage in the Spa – just a whole round of catch up meetings ahead of the all day committee tomorrow. By 8pm tomorrow I will be back at the airport and on the 11pm flight home.

Tonight is dinner with old friends from Flamingo days. Fond memories of hiding out at Richards house rather than being alone at the hotel for a week at a time. It seems like such a long time ago (2002) but so much has passed since then that I guess that it is lost in my fuzzy filing cabinet of a brain.

Newark for tea and buns …

Its a strange place Newark. On the one side there is a whole heap of fantastic history, a castle, working locks and a really nice canal basin. On the other side there is Poundland, Wilkos and every kind of lowlife budget shop you can imagine. Fat families and winos sit on dirty benches smoking their benefit away, checking scratch cards and screaming obscenities at the fat football shirted children pushing and shoving each other around in a grubby buggy.

The town is almost schizophrenic offering hand smoked delicatessen meats and hand crafted game pies on one side of the street market and spud ‘u’ like on the other. – Something for everyone for sure ….but not everything for us.

Ducking the showers we sit by the lock and enjoy some lunch and try not to look too far behind the canal side buildings at the feral festival that is playing out in the precinct. We have bought gourmet cheeses, a huge pork pie and all kinds of unhealthy foods for our caravan supper - washed down with a bottle or two of red wine of course.

Newark – we love the best bits bits and hate the worst parts – there really is not much in between.

A bad case of trapped wind …

 

I was listening to the energy minister Chris Huhne talking about increased renewables The usual politically correct, garbled green rhetoric on energy policy mixed up with the dominance of six major corporations who control the UK power prices. One of the topics that stood out for me was that if we build more wind farms we will be less dependent on those bully boy companies and those pesky foreigners who keep having wars and pushing the prices up.

About a week ago I heard the weather guy on the BBC saying that the last two years in Britain had been the least windy for decades – so I did a little digging for evidence while sipping my morning coffee.

In August 2010 Hazel Thornton of the Met Office Hadley Centre Research facility said

“To conclude…. into the future a shift from UK centred weak cyclonic days to low wind speed anticyclonic days is projected in summer and autumn. More frequent consecutive high pressure days with low wind speeds into the future could indicate an increased frequency of overheating of buildings and resultant human health issues”.

“UK wide anticyclonic events have also been seen to reduce wind power production across the UK and consequently the projected future increase in low wind events in summer and autumn, combined with an increasing reliance on wind power could compromise our future energy resilience”.

So what our weather folks are saying is that for six months a year we are likely to get less wind than now. What is more fun is that it is going to happen in summer when we have our air-conditioning turned on and need our beer fridges turned up to high.

So I am right to think that we are going to get less wind than now …… ?? – I don’t hear anyone saying this ….

While surfing the web I also came across the fact that the price of building wind farms is soaring according to BTM Consult APS, a Danish wind power consultancy company "The price of offshore turbines rose 48 per cent to 2.23 million euros ($3.45 million) per megawatt in the past three years. By comparison, land-based rotors cost 1.38 million euros per megawatt after rising 74 per cent in the same period."

According to APS part of the cost increase comes from higher commodity prices, but part of it also has to do with extremely high demand for these oversized egg whisks. The fact that demand is so high pushes prices upward, but that only serves to attract more players; investors see that there's money to be made with wind power and large industrial companies shift more resources to their wind power divisions. – For shareholders to get rich on wind power the consumer has to pay ….

If the costs of putting up the wind turbines is going up, big corporations are buying in and there is less wind to generate the electricity this doesn’t look like such and idyllic scenario either for contribution to the nations energy needs or my bank balance.

But the one thing that will not spoil my breakfast is that by the time any of this matters I will be tucked up in the south of France with a cold glass of Chardonnay enjoying the fact that France will be powered by Nuclear fuel for at least the next 50 years.

Will the last person to leave Britain please turn the lights off …. Oh? ..you say they have gone off already !? - C'est la vie

24 Hours late….. but worth waiting for

Finally I arrive in Devizes, the sun is out and the tent is pitched and a weekend with friends, some beer and a cycle ride is ahead. This is a million miles from the chaos that has been my life for the last ten weeks and should be a great antidote to the out of control free fall life style. The Namibia delay felt like the last straw, I could have come home and let the project drop but that's just not what I do – I never have and maybe that's a fault. It reminded me of being held hostage by the supermarkets for all of those years as buyers changed dates and times of meetings and trips got moved around at the last minute. My life is hardly my own but I don't often come back late these days and I can almost feel anxiety as I slip back into the clutches of the old life.

Within an hour of pitching the tent and getting the coffee brewing it is all behind me and there is a hope that this weekend oasis of calm will see me through to the end of the month. One last short trip to Kenya and then six weeks of holiday and light duties ahead.