Meeester Nik

Thorndon Park

2010-08-31T14:16:53Z

Much hotter than we expected, despite the wind and the chilly morning, a long walk in Thorndon Park left us wishing we’d left our coats at home. A lively late summer treat, eating blackberries from the hedgerow as we went and dodging the cows (and bulls) sharing the fields.

It’s the best part of a year since we last walked in the park which you realise, on a beautiful day like this, is far too long.

Walking in Cressing
It’s a long, long time since I’ve been to Cressing. I went years ago, when I was a student and had no money on a...
Autumn
Autumn does seem particularly colourful this year. I walked to work through Regent’s Park yesterday morning, and the trees were lovely....
Mum’s 60th
Yesterday wasn’t actually mum’s birthday. It was a few days ago. And yesterday wasn’t really like the queen’s official and actual birthdays – it was...

London comes to Southend

2010-08-31T20:35:08Z

Emilie, Kathryn and Luke came down to Essex for the day. It seems they weren’t put off by last year’s roller disco. So we took them to Southend for a walk along the world’s longest pleasure pier (a mike and a third and frequently burned down or crashed into by tankers), proper seaside fish and chips and, of course, bingo.

The bingo was a bit embarrassing on account of the fact that I won the first two games after we sat down, Kathryn won the fifth and I won the sixth. We claimed our prize – Jumping Monkeys – and made a swift exit before the regulars came for us with pitchforks.

Southend was pretty manic, as always and we just missed getting drenched by a huge shower, but we had loads of fun, and stopped off in Old Leigh for a quiet walk in the setting sun before we all headed home. In all, utterly lovely.

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The name’s Hanks, Tom Hanks

2010-08-10T14:00:23Z

Hurry up and sort yourself out, MGM, or this could be the future of Bond.

Bond 23
From The Guardian: The [23rd James Bond film] would be Mendes’s first proper action film – the director is best known for taut relationship dramas...

Barry and Yvonne Stuart-Hargreaves

2010-08-09T09:06:46Z

Well, that was all rather fun. Neither of us had been to the ballet before, so when dad offered tickets we jumped at it. In fairness we were supposed to be watching it at the Opera Garnier in Paris, which is why we went to France back in May. That didn’t happen – no tickets.

Anyhow, it gave us a chance to see inside the Royal Opera House, which we’ve walked past so many times but never entered. It’s quite fab, and the view of the plaza from the terrace of the Ampitheatre Bar is the best view of Covent Garden going.

…and the view of the champagne bar downstairs isn’t so tatty, either. Good job we wore our smarts, not that we spent much time down there.

So, the ballet. We didn’t really know what to expect, which might have been a good thing, as we went with open minds.

It was the Bolshoi doing Don Quixote, so a pretty high standard for your first experience, and it didn’t disappoint. Well, not us, anyway, but dad had seen better (he’s seen a lot) and to be honest we could see where he was coming from when he said that the end of it would have been done better if they’d headed back to the village for the wedding scene.

There’s not a great deal of story to Don Quixote, and it seems to be a bit of an excuse for showing off how good a dancer you are – kind of like Cirque du Soliel on tip-toes – but that makes it all the more impressive. Random fact: when they pirouette on the tips of their shoes their big toes feel the force of 2 tonnes… and they did a lot of pirouetting.

Even if it weren’t for the ballet, the Opera House alone would be a good enough reason to visit. It’s truly beautiful building, with parts dating back to the 1700s. It’s also a lot bigger than you’d expect. The stage itself is fairly conservative (and only around a third the size of its rival in Paris) but the tiers and boxes seat over 2200 people, and everyone gets a good view.

Would we go again? Most certainly. We even looked up what was on at the Theatre Royal in Norwich last night…

Paris in the spring
The Arc du Triomphe, seen from La Defense Last year was the first in about 15 that I didn’t make it to Paris, so it...
A load of balls
This is brilliant. If you’re in London, head down to the Royal Academy and take a look at Anish Kapoor‘s Tall Tree and the Eye....

Clacton to Frinton

2010-08-10T21:45:49Z

So, Clacton to Frinton by foot. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I cycled it too many years ago with Trevor and Jon and really didn’t remember that Clacton to Frinton was any longer than the very manageable stretch from Frinton on to Walton.

Well it is. We paid for four hours parking and were late getting back, despite only walking one way. Fortunately the parking attendant was nowhere to be seen, perhaps on account of the fact that today was an official scorcher.

You really have no idea how far between the two resorts you are when you’re walking along by the water’s edge, one side of your neck slowly cooking in the sun reflected off the sea. More than once I was sure we were almost there, and on neither occasion were we even half way.

No matter; the sun was full out, the tide was high and the sea was blue and crashing on the defences beside the path. We couldn’t have hoped for any better.

It took over two hours to make it to Frinton, passing beach huts by the hundred on the way, and when we got there we fell into a greasy cafe for eggs and chips and mugs of tea. Never had so humble a lunch tasted so good.

There was no way we were going to get back to the car on foot before it found itself clamped, so we walked up to the station and bought tickets back to Clacton, only to find we’d not get there for another hour and a half on account of a limp timetable and an inconvenient change. So we headed for the bus, and a bit of a shock.

When it eventually arrived (we’d just missed one) it was £7 each for a journey of not more than five miles as the crow flies.

Hmmm. Still, cheaper than a clamp, and it was such a lovely day it was well worth the money.

Walking back in time
A lucky escape. A bit of a grotty weekend and then an unexpected break in the clouds. Too good an opportunity to pass up, we...

Box Hill

2010-08-10T22:11:15Z

I hadn’t been in years and Rich had never been. We hadn’t seen Ash and Roman since last September and we wanted to do some geocaching away from home. So many reasons to head down to Surrey and Box Hill.

We stopped at Sal’s for breakfast and sat on the decking eating cupcakes in the sun. Very decadent, but Will – who is clearly a three-year-old Worrall Thompson – had been making them since he’d got up. The ones in the green cases were ours, apparently.

Surrey turned out to be not nearly so far from home as I’d remembered and we were down there in a little bit more than an hour. We stopped in Leatherhead to smash any illusion I had of this exciting town from my youth (not very nice as it turns out), then headed to Fetcham, past my old scout hut, the place where we used to buy the papers, my old nursery… I was surprised how well I remembered it all considering I left the county aged nine.

We had lunch at The Anchor in Bookham for lunch and then headed up the hill by way of the Zig Zag. It’s just as steep as I remember, the only difference being that Sal and I used to climb straight up the front of it every summer with my grandmother. How she did it, I don’t know.

The view from the top is still one of the best in the south, looking down on Dorking and out over several counties. I wasn’t in the least bit tempted to roll down it like we used to. That’s what happens when you turn mid-thirty: you start thinking about the climb back up again.

We had a successful session geoaching, though. We found four stashes in all before heading back to Ash’s for tea and then out to Epsom for dinner.

Isn’t this what holidays at home should all be about: catching up with the things you’ve missed.

Mum’s 60th
Yesterday wasn’t actually mum’s birthday. It was a few days ago. And yesterday wasn’t really like the queen’s official and actual birthdays – it was...

Democracy in action or democracy inaction?

2010-07-09T10:26:14Z

I just got a retweet from the Prime Minister (I suspect it was actually one of his flunkies as he’s probably quite busy most days) asking me for Facebook feedback on the government. Specifically, what had I actually wanted after the last election.

By the time I got around to voting, 1,107,003 other people had already cast their click, and look at the results so far:

So, 24% of people are happy with what we got, but more people than that wanted another election.

Which leaves us with one question: with the coalition still banging on about inclusive politics and consulting us on what we want, isn’t it time it called another election?

Party political garden party
Did anyone notice we had an election? If you voted you will no doubt have been disappointed. Tory supporters didn’t get the clear mandate they...

The state of publishing

2010-07-08T16:11:59Z

Has it really come to this? They’ll cover-mount anything these days for a quick sale.

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Wimbledon 2010

2010-07-31T18:09:57Z

It’s years since I’d last been and since then they’ve smartened up Centre Court with a big noisy roof to keep the sun off the royal box let them keep playing through the rain.

So, no need for those pads you can buy to soften the seats any more, but plenty of need for rules explanations from PC Pro Tim who was on hand to keep me on track.

So, we watched Federer batting for Switzerland and Lleyton Hewitt pitching for Australia. Both won, despite the heat and stickiness. Very impressive games, particularly once you understand the rules.

Much unpleasantness getting there and back on account of the weather. Don’t get me wrong: I love the sun and the warmth but when you have to put on longs for the first time in weeks your legs find themselves somewhat shocked.

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As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning by Laurie Lee

2010-06-22T20:58:50Z

I picked up this one for inspiration. I’d read that it was the book to read if you want to know how to write a travelogue. I can see why.

Check this paragraph:

The Galician night came quickly, the hills turned purple and the valleys flooded with heavy shadow. The jagged coastline below, now dark and glittering, looked like sweepings of broken glass. Vigo was cold and dim, an unlighted ruin, already smothered in the dead blue dusk. Only the sky and the ocean stayed alive, running with immense streams of flame. Then as the sun went down it seemed to drag the whole sky with it like the shreds of a burning curtain, leaving rags of bright water that went on smoking and smouldering along the estuaries and around the many islands. I saw the small white ship, my last link with home, flare like a taper and die away in the darkness; then I was alone at last, sitting on a hilltop, my teeth chattering as the night wind rose.

I would be delighted to write something as descriptive as that while sitting on the hillside as the sun went down, but this book was written in 1969, 35 years after the journey took place. That’s quite an impressive memory.

The violence of the heat seemed to bruise the whole earth and turn its crust into one huge scar. One’s blood dried up and all juices vanished; the sun struck upwards, sideways, and down, while the wheat went buckling across the fields like a solid sheet of copper. I kept on walking because there was no shade to hide in, and because it seemed to be the only way to agitate the air around me. I began to forget what I was doing on the road at all; I walked on as though keeping a vow, till I was conscious only of the hot red dust grinding like pepper between my toes.

The story, such as it is, isn’t a racer, but the descriptions paint a more vivid picture than any album stuffed full of photos. The skill in the writing is the way in which Lee manages to get away with drenching his prose in quite so many similes and metaphors without weighing it down or leaving it feeling overworked.

A great piece of armchair travel, it chronicles Lee’s two year journey through a largely unexplored country. Malaga, Marbella and Fuengirola are small fishing ports, not high-rise resorts, and as the story runs on we start to hear the first rumblings of war: civil war. It’s this momentous evolution that ultimately gives the story its satisfying pay-off, and runs it perfectly into George Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia.

Fifth Business by Robertson Davies
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Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke
This is a lengthy book. 1006 pages in all, although that’s not the metric I’d use when declaring it lengthy. The Pillars of the Earth...