Graham McDonald 1966-2009

I learned yesterday of the untimely death of an old school friend, and it has made me very sad. Graham was at once one of the popular guys, but had time for everyone (and I wasn't one of the popular guys). Many tributes have been paid to him on Facebook by his friends. No-one can possibly imagine what goes through someone's mind to imagine that the only answer is take one's own life.

Rest In Peace Graham

Breaking News

Discovery Channel trailer-man voiceover: "...and Hitler invades Poland."
Steve: "Not again?"

Podcasts and Twitter

These lists accompany the haymee-pods numbers 8 (podcasts) and 9 (Twitter).

Podcasts I subscribe to:

Friday Night Comedy

From Our Own Correspondent

Mark Kermode/Simon Mayo Film Reviews

Front Row Highlights

Law in Action

Material World

Digital Planet

The Pod Delusion

The Apple Byte (video)

Buzz Report (video)

Carpool (video)

NASAcast

As It Occurs To Me

The Ross Patzelt Radio Show

Twitter - the people I follow:

Bill Bailey - RealBillBailey

Simon Pegg - simonpegg

Peter Serafinowicz - serafinowicz

John Cleese - JohnCleese

Jimmy Carr - jimmycarr

Will Harris - WillHarris

Robert Llewellyn - bobbyllew

Phillip Schofield - Schofe

Stephen Fry - stephenfry

Victoria Coren - VictoriaCoren

Mika - mikasounds

Gareth Mitchell - GarethM

Bill Thompson - billt

Prof Brian Cox - ProfBrianCox

Jeff Williams - Astro_Jeff

Nicole Stott - Astro_Nicole

Mark Kelly - ShuttleCDRKelly

Scott Kelly - StationCDRKelly

Andrew Collins - CollingsA

Chris Addison - mrchrisaddison

Armando Iannucci - AIannucci

Tim Minchin - timminchin

Charlie Brooker - charltonbrooker

Rob Brydon - RobBrydon

Phill Jupitus - jupitusphillip

David Mitchell - RealDMitchell

David Quantick - quantick

Dave Gorman - DaveGorman

Alan Rusbridger - arusbridger

Nick Clegg - nick_clegg

Jack Of Kent - jackofkent

Paul Bailey - paulbailey

Robin Ince - robinince

Johann Hari - johannhari101

Daniel Edward Pitt - myinfamy

Crispian Jago - Crispian_Jago

Simon Singh - SLSingh

Richard Wilson - dontgetfooled

Maggie Philbin - maggiephilbin

Richard Herring - Herring1967

Tweetdeck - the iPhone app I use, has improved since I recorded the podcast. Oh, and I'm haymee of course, on Twitter!

Nick Griffin speaks the truth?

You've seen this already, right? In case you haven't - it's probably not quite what you're expecting...

Windy Queen

Into town this afternoon - on my own* - for a mixed bag of retail experiences.

Boots was civilised and polite, and had everything I needed pretty much where I expected to find it. Sainsbury's was as Sainsbury's is; that is to say, frustrating, over-crowded and generally unfulfilling. Micro Anvika was helpful and had exactly what I wanted, but at a price.

But then I had to go to Primark. I say "had to". Steve needed some socks and I needed a new practical top for work. So it's the only sensible place to visit. God, it is awful. Full of scummy people (well, this is Croydon) and disgusting 'store standards'. The queue was monstrous, and the socks - from a newly-replenished display - turned out on examination at the till to be faulty, so I was invited to follow the (admittedly helpful) BO-emitting sales assistant back to choose a replacement. £7.83 unsatisfactorily spent.

And boy was it blowy out.

*Steve was in London, and is now The Ghost Club's new Press Officer. He came back with some new vinyl, including Queen + Paul Rodger's The Cosmos Rocks, which is playing as I type, and rather fine.

Remembrance Sunday

As usual we watched the ceremony from the Cenotaph on TV this morning. Brought a lump to the throat. I think this is the first year there are no longer any Great War ("the war to end all wars") veterans. But more and more injured and killed from our own times.

Where's my new car?

'cos mine's done 100K - earlier today in fact. On the A1 southbound, just south of the M62, near Pontefract.

Guardian gagged!

The Guardian has been gagged from reporting parliamentary proceedings.

Scandalous. However, free-thinking people may care to look here.

For more on this read the current Private Eye and, I strongly suspect, the new edition due in your favourite newsagent later this week.

[edited to tidy up formatting]

It's Croydon

Well I'm not going in there then.

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.

Another beautiful day in paradise

Possibly the hottest day yet saw us going for a wander after breakfast around the old lanes above the marina, stopping at a bar to sit and watch the world of Port Sóller go about its business.

The myna bird we occasionally hear wolf-whisling lives in a cage on a balcony above the dress shop next-door.

I rarely sunbathe even on holiday, but this afternoon I spend a very pleasant hour covered in lotion on a sunbed by the hotel pool.

I have declared that I fancy fish tonight.

2 pictures

Me last night in the hotel bar.

Steve swimming in the pool this afternoon.

Hotels

This is the second time we have stayed in the Hotel Eden in Port de Sóller.

But there are two other hotels here I like the look of:

The Hotel Aimia, which is next door,

and the imposing Espléndido.

Sunshine does not equal happiness

I'm aware that my blogs on holiday are beginning to be a bit "...and this is what we ate for lunch, and the weather is hot..." rather boring nonsense. So a change is needed.

Last night unfortunately I was feeling down. It doesn't happen too often, but with Steve ill - indeed, signed off sick - with severe depression, it doesn't help when I too find myself feeling low. It's difficult to see what's happening around us with any kind of objectivity; it's like we're both trapped in the tentacles of some sea monster. There was a problem with the paella; there was a problem with noise (it was Saturday night, and I think the local youths were just letting off steam); and there was a problem with the heat (which might seem odd as the weather is now so wonderful after the rains - but when you're down, any problem is just a problem).

There is, we discovered this morning after talking to the hotel, nothing to be done about the air-conditioning - which doesn't come on in the room even with the balcony door closed - it's automatic. Whether or not the heat today will trigger it to come on tonight, we shall find out.

Steve has been writing the first essay of his OU course today to submit later, so I've been paddling, wandering, photographing, and reading. There are pictures here (from number 33 to 48).

The History Of Port De Sóller

I have shamelessly copied this from the back of the menu at 'Albatros', our favourite morning coffee bar.

"The Port de Sóller has long attracted an ocean of conquerors, invaders, settlers and now tourists, who have all contributed to its rich and colourful history.

"The first settlers were shepherds and metal prospectors arriving around 4000BC who buried their people in rock carved caves. Next came the Talayotic period around 1000BC and cone-shaped towers can still be seen from this time. Phoenician and Greek traders followed and it's probable that the name Balearic comes from ballein, the Greek for sling throwing. These skilled sling-throwers helped the Carthaginians fight the Greeks and Romans. By 123BC the Romans had control of Mallorca introducing their infrastructures, roads, towns and Christianity. However, during the 10th century the island was annexed to the Emirate of Córdoba and followed 300 years of Muslim rule.

"The port was formed as part of the territory known as Sulyar (Valley of Gold) and with a strategic position between Africa and Islamic Spain, trade prospered as agriculture improved. In 1229 the prosperity tempted King Jaume I of Aragón and Catalunya who, angry with the Emir of Mallorca for stealing his ships, took the island. The northern port established itself as the centre of the great trading routes and a lucrative export trade of oranges, lemons and olive oil followed - evidence can be seen in the manor houses and farms whose façades show an elegance that is unusual in Mallorca. However, trade was continuously threatened by attacks from bandits and bloody battles were fought and won between the Moors and Christians over the following centuries. Each year proud locals celebrate the Mallorcan victory known as 'Es Firo' with a mock battle - a fascinating and energetic festival not to be missed*.

"With the growth of the shipping trade during the Middle Ages and up to the French Revolution, the Port of Sóller prospered with an extensive fleet of merchant ships, fishing boats and shipping lines. In the eighteenth century a commercial port was fitted out with new quays. However the Civil War (1936-1939) changed the focus of the Port. After the Civil War, the shipping trade had virtually disappeared, though the Port soon took on a new challenge with the growth and demand of tourism.

"Now the port enjoys a much more passive role where a proud traditional culture and lively fishing industry quietly live alongside the unique combination of mountains, beach and sea which attract visitors from far and wide."

*We did miss it - by two days.

We'll pass over the "Christianity" introduced by the Romans in 123BC, the quick skim over the Civil War and the complete lack of any mention of WWII, shall we? But that gives you a flavour of where we are.

...and a goat sneezed

This morning we hiked up to the lighthouse on the promontory, which is a fair way, though the views out to sea, and back towards the town, are magnificent. And there are goats in them thar hills. Goats sneeze, too, which sounds quite funny.

We had cold drinks (I had lemonade) at the top.

The houses whose entrance gates we had passed on the road on the way up revealed themselves in all their glory against the cliff-face on the way back down.

This evening

Steve paddled in the sea earlier.

Now you want to know what we ate tonight, don't you? We started with just some bread, olive oil/garlic mayonnaise and some olives. Then Steve had chicken, and I had grilled swordfish and a baked potato.

We watched the sun set, always a magical moment in Port de Sóller. Then we - perhaps foolishly - ordered tiramisù for dessert, before escaping back to the hotel for coffee (Steve) and vodka-based-cocktail (me).

Insmonia

Ses Oliveras was open last night, so we had a fantastic meal. Please, if you ever come to Port de Sóller, promise you will visit Ses Oliveras, and order the shoulder of lamb. You will not regret it.

Was the waiter Dutch, or Welsh? Did it rain, and rain, and rain? Was the place full of ex-pat Brits? Did that matter? Was it annoying that two people, favoured guests, perhaps family of the owner*, were smoking inside, and when I asked if I could smoke I was told, no?

*He has a portait of himself, a painting, hung above the entrance to the toilets. It's a fairly large painting, and was done a few years ago when he was a little less grey than he is now. But he is a very nice man, and when we paid our second visit in a week two years ago, we left with a bottle of wine from him as a gift, so he is forgiven for all these things. And his lamb is so, so nice.

It is possible, in hindsight, that the vodka cocktail in the hotel bar aftwerwards was one drink too many.

I woke at precisely 0340hrs. Boom. Wide awake. Absolutely, completely, totally awake. I toyed with the following possibilities: going and sitting naked on the balcony and watching the lighthouse; setting up the laptop and randomly surfing; putting the light on and reading. I did none of these things, but lay, staring at the ceiling, contemplating the fact that I was so much happier being awake here, with the sound of the sea lapping against the beach, than back at home, with the alarm perhaps due to go off at 7.15... I think that helped me drift off again.

In fact the alarm did go off just before 8. This was because I had caught drifts of an anthem wafting from unseen PA speakers somewhere nearby each morning at about this time, and I wanted to get up, go outside and work out where. Now I know it comes from the (very small) naval base across the harbour. I recorded it, and offer this file (only as a WMA until I get home) for you to listen to. Is it the Spanish National Anthem? Anyone?

So, I was up. But Steve wasn't. He felt rough. A heady mixture of beer, wine and vodka cocktails, and the (perfectly legal, indeed prescribed) head-drugs that are slowly but surely twisting his mind back into the shape it should be, conspired to make him feel like s**t. Or that's what he told me, anyway. So I went to breakfast, smuggling back some of those trifle sponge fingers, before sitting out in the sun/cloud/sun/cloud/sun/cloud by the pool with a decent cup of coffee, until he joined me. Some people were even attempting to sun-bathe.

And now, later on, the sun shines very brightly upon us, and all is well with the world.

Wetness

Yesterday afternoon we watched a man try out some flags on the four flagpoles on the hotel roof. He ran up a St George's flag, and a small Turkish one, before removing them and instead running up an EU one and a rather ragged Spanish one.

EU, Spanish, Mallorcan and Hotel Eden flags

I was rather impressed that after tying off the lanyard on each flag, he fixed it to the flagpole with cable-ties to stop the clang-clang-clang which can get very annoying.

Out for a small lunch and coffees, and to get cash and cigarettes. It was damp and we were pestered by sparrows. Then a wetter walk around the marina to look at some of the larger boats. 'Eagle III' from London was particularly impressive, as was a wooden yacht.


We came back to the hotel for Steve to sleep, while I read* and snoozed. The wind really got up at one point, testing the flag-man's attempts at silencing the clanging lanyards. I can report that, tested under pressure, he was only partly succesful. The harbour did its job of protecting the boats very well, while wind-whipped waves washed against the small beach below the hotel.

Beers dowstairs were followed by pizza at Diablito's, and then cocktails back at the hotel.

Woke up this morning to sun! At breakfast there is a good selection of cereals and traditional cooked eggs, bacon and so on, plus the more continental selection of cold meats and cheeses, as well as toast-making facilities, and a slightly odd (yet, again, typically continental) collection of miniature cakes, from which I sampled yesterday. The thing that looks like a dry trifle sponge finger turned out to be ... a dry trifle sponge finger.

The coffee, however, is possibly the worst coffee this side of the Pyrenees, so that is why we have not long come back from a trip to a proper cafe for a proper cappuccino.

Unfortunately we failed to miss the 'emergency sham', news of which has been posted about the hotel since we got here. We evacuated when the alarms went off, but I think it was more a bell test than a genuine attempt at an evacuation exercise, which I think should have involved marshalls on each floor and a serious attempt at checking rooms.

We was naughty and sneaked out without handing in our key at reception for a burger and baguette and beers at a nearby bar. It rained heavily. We bought more water and mystery chocolate biscuits at the shop under the hotel.

By the way, I'm aware this blog is a bit crap. I can write well, and if you want to see a better example of my travel writing, then click here.

The complete collection of photographs from the holiday can be found here. It will be updated whenever possible.

*This holiday's reading list: Rock Me Amadeus by Seb Hunter; Imperium by Robert Harris; The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde (eBook); Grimm's Fairy Tales (eBook); Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka (eBook).

Note to self: use gracias not grazie

Got to Gatwick early yesterday, but the flight was late. A gratis text first thing had confirmed the flight time, but apart from an uncalled-for advert for exchange services when we got to the airport, there was no info text about the delay. So EasyJet were true to type.

Airbus A319 pushed back at 1307, took off at 1320, and an uneventful flight.

Snow-covered lumpy bits (the Pyrenees)

In Palma we lost the bus station. Where it had been last time we were here two years ago was now a car park. We found it in the end - underground. Caught the bus through the tunnel out to Sóller and on to Port de Sóller - which felt, Steve said, like coming home ("It feels as if we haven't been away, as if we just popped into Palma for the day").

By 7pm we were on the balcony gazing out across the small bay to the lighthouses.

We went for a wander. Marley's had gone, and Ses Oliveres was closed, but, after some unpleasantness at one restaurant where we were pushed out by some Germans, we ate well, and returned for bed.

This morning at breakfast was every species of German on show: the rude ones, the arrogant ones, the intimidating ones. And the ugly ones. But there are no towels on the sun-loungers, at least yet.

Despite the fact that it's dull yet warm, several tram-loads of day-trippers have arrived from Sóller. Steve has studied this morning, so it's time to go and seek a decent cup of Mallorcan coffee.

A**e

Quick pop into town for sun screen and some new sunglasses (but not the books I'd ordered, which aren't in yet), in preparation for our holiday next week. Then quickly back home with time to spare to watch the Spanish Grand Prix - or so I thought. I didn't check the Radio Times, but I had it listed in my calendar as 2pm. Only it started at 1. Like I said, a**e. 

We went to Denise and Peter's yesterday, for a delicious meal and a very nice evening, with Kevin and Stephen there too. Peter has a rather fab new car, which I happily drooled over.

vil! The Story of Anvil, An

The above is exactly how I have just seen headed a film review on the web. I can see what happened - can you?

A somewhat pointless post

I have an interesting* journey to describe. I kind of burbled away into a tape recorder during it. But for a couple of important reasons I can't post it yet. But when I can, I will.

*Well, you be the judge.

Look ahead

When you think about the future, do you imagine what you will be doing in one, two, five, ten years time?

And also, do you ever think back say five or ten years, and recalling where you were and what you were doing, do you remember thinking into the future? In other words, how close were the predictions for the future you made back then to the reality of today?

I ask because I've just come across a fantastic website called futureme.org, where you can write your future self an e-mail, which is kind of cool.

HD ready?

Look, if you've got a Blu-ray player or PS3, and an HD TV, and a decent sound system, then I can't recommend highly enough that you buy and watch this.

It is truly stunning to watch, Patrick Stewart's narration is perfectly judged, it's filmed by the BBC Natural History Unit (need I say more?) and the music is from the Berliner Phil. It's HD at its breathtaking best.

After a long absence...

As it's been months and months... here's a little catch up of where we are:

Steve's just back home from a few days convalesence in Salisbury;
I'm back from a week away in north Wales, Manchester and Scotland;
there's a Grand Prix tomorrow morning on't'telly;
I'm seriously contemplating the purchase of a MacBook (and an iPhone when my contract is up in June and the rumoured new handset is available);
we're looking forward to going on holiday in May to Mallorca;
we're looking forward to going to Larmer Tree in June (my first ever festival);
Steve's Dad has had cancer surgery, and (fingers crossed) is fine now;
my parents are coping with a few health problems as stoically as ever;
I recently bought my first edition of Q magazine and have thoroughly enjoyed it (I don't know why I never did before - it's the grown up, twenty-first century equivalent of Smash Hits);

That's it for the moment. As I always say after a long period of blogging abstinence, I will resolve to post updates more frequently. Maybe.