haymee-pod

If you read this blog regularly - or even just occasionally - you may like to know that I've started a podcast. Three episodes so far. It's been quite exciting to watch them appearing in the iTunes store.

If you want to subscribe to my random burblings, you need to click here if you use iTunes, or they are available here as well, where you can subscribe.

Improve your mood through sewing

Down in Salisbury for quick weekend visit to get stuff together before Larmer Tree. In generally low mood for some reason. But just finished sewing our camp* flag up, and this has lifted my spirits a little somehow. Mind you, I'm expecting it to unravel in the wind...

*it's for identifying the tent at a distance, but also it's purple and gold and shimmery, so kind of camp in both senses.

Dublin to Belfast – dictation from when I drive off the ferry at Dublin Port

I may have alluded (on Saturday 2nd May, to be rather precise) to the fact that I had recorded a sort of burble into a tape recorder recently, and so here it is, transcribed:

Right, this is Ireland. Drive on the left, yes that's fine. Oh, the traffic lights are a bit different. They don't go Red.....Amber.....Green, they go Red.Green.

I need to get used to these road signs, but apart from that everything looks pretty normal.

And Kilometres! Kilometres per hour. Thank goodness for that! My TomTom set to kilometre units is finally … you know … worthwhile.

My radio seems to be playing pop music, and adverts, and I haven't de-tuned it from Radio 4 since I left England. Or rather, Wales. So this is the Irish Radio 4 is it? Well, no, it seems to be some commercial station in Dublin. But it's quite listen-to-able.

OK, I've got to go left here [indicator on]. Dammit.

Damn, why didn't I get some bloody Euros out? I could have taken this Toll Tunnel [from Dublin Port] but now I've got to go through the City Centre – in the rush hour. What an idiot.

OK, now we've got … oh, wow, he's fit! He's dressed... What's he? Rugby? No, he's carrying a sort of stick thing. What is that? Not Gaelic football … it's more like lacrosse, but it's not lacrosse, lacrosse is for girls, what is it? No, can't remember. [It's hurling. Ed.]

Oh buggery bollocks. I'm in the wrong f***ing lane now [indicator on, TomTom: “Turn right. Turn left”]. That means I've got to turn left. Actually though, that might turn out quite well. It's going to get me past this jam.

Oh look! An Irish pub.

Orange-jacketed evening newspaper sellers at the traffic lights, patrolling the queues of cars. Headline on the … whatever the paper is … a quick glance and I thought it read, “Body Found In Bog”. Too many Irish clichés on my mind I think. It actually says, “Body Found In Boot”.

[Indicator on] Erm … they're going to hate me. I've just scooted past a load of cars. I got into the left lane in front of a bus, and now I've realised it becomes a bus lane the other side of the traffic lights, and I've got to cut back in again, and they're going to hate me.

Slightly bizarre as we join the M1, or N1 – not sure which it is – motorway heading north out of Dublin: a funeral cortège with police motorcycle outriders, which seems a little … extraordinary … although somehow, very Irish.

Ok. Is this the M1, the N1 or the E1? I think it's the M1.

Or is it the E-01?

Ooh! I can officially do 120 km/h, which is 75mph. Although I can't, because it's congested, but I could.

I've just been undertaken on the motorway – that's not right! Ah, it's a Brit.

Right. The N1 is not the same road as the M1. The N1 is, I think, more like our A1, and the M1 is like … well … our M1.

Oh come on, you're having a giraffe. There's a sign to a village just off the motorway called Termon Feckin. Surely not. That's for tourists, no?

Well, I've kind of missed the border somehow, because they've diverted the road just at that point from where my sat-nav thought I should be, and the only indication I'd crossed into the North was a road sign warning “Speed Limit in MPH”.

Impressions of Ireland – driving through it: a mixture of Britain and continental Europe, which I suppose is no surprise.

Salisbury as seen from 100 years ago

A couple of nights ago I was in one of those hotels that has a pile of old books on a table next to the four-poster. I picked up the top volume “The National Encyclopædia Vol. XII Rom.-Spr.”, published I'm not sure when as there appears to be no date, but claiming to be “A Dictionary of Universal Knowledge by Writers of Eminence in Literature, Science and Art”, which makes a bit of a change from Wikipedia I suppose.

One interesting point of note is that these are the planets as listed in a wonderful fold-out colour plate at the beginning showing comparitive magnitudes: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Vesta, Juno, Ceres, Pallas, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune.

So we are pre-1930(?) when Pluto was discovered, and I assume the four listed between Mars and Jupiter must be major asteroids, long-since discounted as insignificant in any list of planets.

Anyway, that's all by-the-by, as what I wanted to tell you was how I opened the book completely randomly, and it fell open at the entry for Salisbury (page 96, if you care) and this is what it says (all punctuation etc maintained):

SALISBURY (or New Sarum), parliamentary and municipal borough, and market-town in Wiltshire, 83 miles W.S.W. from London by the Exeter branch of the South-western Railway, and 23 miles N.W. of Southampton. (The name of the town in pronounced Salz'bury.)

This city had its origins in the thirteenth century. This bishops and canons of the cathedral, which was then within the fortifications of Old Sarum [see SARUM], being exposed to injury from the captains of that fortress, with whom they were at feud, determined to remove their church to another site; and Richard Pauper or Poore, who held the see, having obtained an indulgence from the Pope, commenced a new church on the lands belonging to the see on the site of the present cathedral, in 1220. The inhabitants of Old Sarum, espousing the cause of their bishop and clergy, also removed, and thus the city of New Sarum, or Salisbury, rose into existence. A charter granted by Henry III., making it a free city, and giving to the inhabitants a fair and a market, contributed to its prosperity, and in the succeeding reigns several parliaments were held there. It was fortified by a wall and ditch; and the erection of a bridge over the Avon at Harnham brought the great western road (which had previously passed through Old Sarum) through this town in 1244. From its position it rapidly rose into commercial importance. In the Wars of the Barons and the Roses it was, however, a considerable sufferer. The Duke of Buckingham was beheaded in its market-place, in 1483, by order of Richard III. During the Civil War it was successively occupied by Ludlow, Doddington, Waller and Charles I. It was triumphantly entered by the Prince of Orange (William III.), on the 4th of December, 1688.

Salisbury is situated on the eastern bank of the river Avon, which is crossed by three stone bridges, and the principal part of it lies immediately to the north of the extensive Cathedral Close. It consists of several streets, regularly laid out at right angles to each other. Most of the houses are of brick, of comparitively modern erection, and several of them of handsome appearance. The town is well paved, and kept remarkably clean by means of water continually running down the principal streets. The drainage is good, and the city is one of the healthiest in England. South of the Avon, where it makes a bend to the east, is the suburban village of Harnham.

The cathedral is considered one of the most beautiful in England. It was begun in 1220, and finished in 1258. The architect was Elias de Derham, and among its benefactors were William Longespée, earl of Salisbury, and his countess, Ela. The spire was added in the reign of Edward III. The Close is entered by several ancient gates. The freedom of the cathedral from the encumbrance of contiguous buildings adds much to its imposing beauty; and further, it has the advantage of being built in one style, the Early English, and from a uniform plan. The tower and spire are of later date, but admirable accommodated to the style of the building, the extreme length of which is 449 feet; width of the great transept, 203 feet; height of the interior, 81 feet; and of the spire, 404 feet. It is in the form of a double cross, having two transepts, each of which has an aisle eastward, and the nave has a large north porch. There are spacious cloisters, a chapter-house, and a tower for a library and muniment room. The exterior of the cathedral was thoroughly restored between the years 1863 and 1870. The work included not merely superficial renewals, but the strengthening of the foundation throughout, so that everywhere the security as well as the appearance of the building as regarded. The chief work, however, was the strengthening of the matchless tower and spire, so as to insure its future safety. This was fully accomplished by means of an ingenious and elaborate system of iron ties, devised by Mr. Shields, the eminent civil engineer, whom Sir G. G. Scott (under whose superintendence the restorations were made) had called in to assist him in this delicate operation. The choir of the cathedral was restored in 1873-77 at a cost of about £15,000, as a memorial to the late Bishop Hamilton. The three parish churches of the old city are large; St. Edmund's and St. Thomas' are fine buildings in the Perpendicular style. The episcopal palace contains a feudal hall built in 1460.

The Roman Catholics have a handsome chapel, and there are places of worship for various denominations of dissenters. There is a grammar-school in connection with the cathedral, and another in the patronage of the corporation. The other public buildings are the council-house, town-hall, the infirmary, library and news-room, St. Nicholas hospital, founded earlier than the cathedral; and Hamilton Hall, erected in 1874 for the use of the literary and scientific institution and school of art. The Victoria Park was opened in 1887 and the County Hall erected in 1889. A statue to Henry Fawcett, M.P. was erected in 1887.

Since 1885 the borough has returned one member to Parliament. The population of the parliamentary borough – the limits of which were slightly extended by the Redistribution of Seats Act of 1885 – is 17,362. The markets are held on Tuesday and Saturday, with large cattle fairs on alternate Tuesdays.

Having had a further flick through the book, which covers from Romford (“a busy and increasing town of England, in the county of Essex, with a large cattle market, a good corn exchange, a town-hall, two iron-foundries, and a celebrated brewery...”) to Spring'bok (“a species of antelope found in South Africa, and nearly allied to the gazelle”), I think the date of publication must be around the turn of the twentieth century, because there are dates late into the 1890s but none I can see after this.

I thought you might be interested.

Strange co-incidences pt. 94

We got back from holiday fine. Onto a dirty train at Gatwick full of nasty Sussex oiks. And I mean "f-ing, c- ing" retards. Welcome home...

Two days ago I found myself driving along the Euston Road, crossing over Baker Street. And for the rest of the journey I was trying my damnedest to get that song out of my head. Have you ever tried whistling it, you know, straight from your head? Could I get the sax solo right, the bit where it goes all twiddly? No, I could not.

And then for the co-incidence.

First let me explain that way, way back, when I was at boarding school, I used to spend half-term holidays in this country, either with my maiden great-aunt in Salisbury, or sometimes with my sister and brother, who shared a house in Bramley, near Guildford. And we would go to a pub, the Wheatsheaf, where I would have a Coke while my siblings would consume pints, and we would play pool, and I would put some pocket money (25p?) in the juke box, and my favourite selection was Gerry Rafferty's Baker Street. 

And yesterday afternoon, re-routing my sat-nav to avoid a congested M25, completely unexpectedly I found myself driving through ... Bramley. And past the Wheatsheaf, and there's Baker Street pounding inside my head yet again.

The end of the holiday

After our trip to Sóller we ate again at Ses Oliveres.

And yesterday was a bit of a non-day really, and in the evening after cocktails at the hotel, we ate at a little tucked-away upstairs terrace restaurant.

And today we fly home...

The Spanish Armada* is late

Bit pf a catch-up here, sorry.

More sun yesterday - wow this is soooo tiring! Lay by the pool for an hour again, then a little later sat on the beach while Steve swam enjoyably in the sea for a while, doing handstands! That is to say, he was doing handstands in the sea - I wasn't doing them on the beach...

Last night we walked further round than usual, to 'Es Passeig' restaurant. Apart from a German mother and her two unruly kids nearby all was good. We started with salads and I had spagetti while Steve had fish - as in a whole fish, baked. I've never been keen when fish is served with head and tail intact, and eating it is more a biology lesson disection exercise than a meal. Still, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

During the course of the meal my new green check shirt, already well-fitting, became tight, so now I am officially fat.

Despite the service being slow and us dragging the meal out as long as possible with dessert and coffees, we still found that Miguel Pastor was playing his merrie organe when we got back to the hotel, so we ordered cocktails and endured (and I do not use the word in any exaggerated sense) it for half an hour before going to bed where we could still hear him murdering various standards ('Please Release Me' springs to mind for some reason) as well as unknown Spanish compositions.

A word or two about birds. This morning while sitting out on the balcony just before the 0800 national anthem from the naval base (only the usually-efficient Spanish Armada* didn't play it until 0805 today) I watched three swallows (or were they swifts?) wheeling about, almost in formation like little jet fighters, catching insects before the heat of the sun. There are sparrows everywhere here: they hop onto the back of the chair next to you when you are eating a sandwich at an outdoor café, they flit around the hotel balconies looking for dropped crumbs, and I even watched one hopping along the beach yesterday. And they're noisy little buggers. Ducks here like the sea - a lot. We often see two or three bobbing along a few metres from the beach. In the dried up river you can see ducks, geese, seagulls and last night some weird bird (like a chicken or turkey yet with webbed feet). And when we went for a wander the other day to a great place up by the old church (now a museum) where you can sit and look out over the headland to the exit from the harbour, we watched a gull for probably five minutes wheeling about without flapping his wings even once, enjoying the air currents off the cliff face. I swear he was enjoying himself.

You can hail the tram right outside our hotel, and this morning we did so, and clattered our way into Sóller where we spent three hours or so having a coffee, a look around the shops, a longish (for us) walk through orange and lemon groves, some lunch including of course plenty of fresh local orange juice (Sóller's wealth is built on oranges), and then caught the tram back.

I may have mentioned this before, but when I was little I came to Port de Sóller with my parents on holiday from Paris, where we lived at the time. Way, way back in my memory I can recall visting a shop where Dad bought the large olive wood cheese board and fruit bowl they still use to this day. Now I think I found the same shop/workshop in Sóller, right by the tram terminus. On chatting to the nice lady inside I discovered it opened forty years ago (which would be about right) and the photograph of the then owner she showed me brought back more memories...

Oh, and when we arrived back at the hotel - joy of joys - the air-conditioning is on. Won't go lower than 21° unfortunately, but hey, it's air-con!

*Armada in Spanish just means Navy

Fantastic news!

See what we have to look forward to tonight!!

A day in Palma de Mallorca

After breakfast, a 'Tunnel Express' bus direct to Palma, for a gentle day of sightseeing.

In the 'Museu d'Art Espanyol Contemporani' I sat for some time in front of a large yellow daubing, but try as I might I didn't get it. It was cheerful, though. There were some things of interest (including some Picassos and Dalis).

We did a little fashion shoot in a colourfully-lit exhibit (at least I think it was an exhibit: it might have been a tanning salon).

Then we visited the 'Palau March Museu' to see some sculptures (including by Henry Moore and Barbara Hepworth) and some absolutely stunning eighteenth-century Neapolitan Nativity scenes. See more of these pics here.

Then we just went a bit touristy, had a spot of lunch in a café on a square, wrote some postcards, wandered the shops, had a rather expensive coffee in a very hip establishment called Cappuccino, where we were paying for the exclusivity and the ambience, before catching the slow mountain bus back through Valldemossa and the beautiful village of Deià (where Michael and Catherine famously live).

A special meal

Once every holiday we treat ourselves to an extra-special meal and last night we did so, slightly unexpectedly, when, on a whim, we decided to dine at 'Randemar', a fine restaurant set behind a hedge and a railing, which we have passed many times on our way to eat at lesser establishments.

We had the full works, and where Steve had a main of duck, I chose a tuna steak. And I learned something new. Now I would have expected the answer to the question, "How would you like your tuna steak cooked, sir?" to be, simply, "Properly, please." However, I have discovered that the correct answer is, "Medium, please." We enjoyed a bottle of fine, dry white wine, and I finished with a delicious sorbet.

When we returned to the hotel for a drink in the bar, the stereo treated us to possibly my worst nightmare: Karen Carpenter* followed by Chris de Burgh followed by the Everly Brothers followed by the Jackson Five ("Ben") followed by - Gawd help us - the Bee Gees with "Massachusetts". At least we are, so far at least, spared any of the outside 'entertainments' which we endured last time we were here, as the season hasn't properly started yet.

*Apparently I'm not allowed to diss Karen Carpenter.