It all started sedate enough. The usual 7:30 wake up call to Mirinda, breakfast then a lovely walk in the park for the puppies and me. We saw lots of dogs out and about but none the poodles were interested in. There was one little fluff ball of a puppy who just wanted to play with Carmen but she went all shy and ran away. The puppy was called Lilian – Lilly for short.

It’s pretty typical of Carmen. She clearly doesn’t remember what it was to be young and boisterous. And she needs to run around a lot. At her last weigh in the vet said she needed to get more exercise and eat less food. Neither of these options appeal to her. In fact, her idea of exercise is dreaming about running in the park. Her feet go like Billy-O!

Not so Day-z. Slim, manic, Day-z. Though she tends to run away from anything and everything, so maybe that’s why she’s not overweight!

Anyway, having walked them and taken possession of our newest possession (a Garmin SatNav – I was totally convinced about the wonder of these in France with both John and Darren having them in their cars) I quickly showered then left for my usual lunch date with Mirinda.

I sat in the reception area, sipping my Starbucks, watching her take control of a meeting she was having in a corridor in front of me. I love the way she stands up. The other people are completely put off. Keeps them on edge. A wonderful tactic, skilfully employed.

Anyway, we had our usual wander around London streets and lunch at Eat, before I dropped her back at the office. But, unlike most Wednesdays, my day was far from over.

My next stop was Malpins, the electronics store. Mirinda’s DVD in the flat is being very temperamental and she needs a replacement. I checked online and found a very reasonable mini jobbie at Malpins, so that’s where I went. The fact that Malpins is a massive store full of all things that make boys shiver with anticipation, had nothing to do with it.

Actually, there was little time for shivering (sad face) as I took a box from the shelf, paid for it then left. Interestingly a postcode was not required this time although I was ready for them. This is just the sort of double standard that drives me crazy! Still, I took the box and walked quickly over to Liverpool Street station to board a very bumpy bus to Docklands.

I was in and out of the flat in around 15 minutes. In that time I managed to collect the mail (it is all addressed to me after all, and Mirinda never collects it anyway), unpack and install the DVD player and threw the old one and packaging away. I had to write the code for the garbage room on my hand because no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t memorise the 7 characters involved.

Still, I was back on the road to South Quay DLR station like the Flash, just missing a train. Not that this matters much. Apart from the fact that trains arrive every five minutes, the view over the docks and towards the Thames is lovely. Surprisingly the train was packed (the one I’d missed looked almost empty) and I stood all the way to Bank.

The change from the DLR to the Circle Line at Bank involves a walk of about 15 miles because you are actually going to Monument Station but all underground and as a continuation of your journey. Unlike Carmen, however, I don’t mind a bit of brisk walking and I arrived at the station just in time to miss the train. Four District Line trains followed in quick succession. Oddly, two of them went to Upminster and followed each other just two minutes apart. I’m not at all sure why. Anyway, it was only five minutes before I was on a Circle train to Barbican.

We had a brief wait at Aldgate because the train was early (a Tube train that was early? What’s that about!) and a chap stepped on and vaguely asked the carriage if it was a District Line train. Three of us said, no, it was a Circle train and he wandered off, back onto the platform. After a while, the chap next to me said “He’s not even at the right station. The District line doesn’t stop at Aldgate.” I chuckled, cruelly and replied “He’ll have a long wait then.”

At Barbican, I popped into the Tesco on the corner for some coffee, sugar and milk and then went to the flat at Florin Court, where I worked on my dissertation for a few hours while I waited.

I was waiting for two people. A Schumanian from the realo, who wanted to look at the flat and for Dan. I had placed the bed and the two chests of drawers on Freecycle on the weekend and Dan had said he wanted them. He was arriving at about 6:30 in a rental van to take them away. And he did.

Dan was a lovely guy. He works at Deloittes. I know because he said he was sitting in his office a block from the flat but had to go home, change, pick up the van then drive back to the flat. Anyway, I helped him load the booty and he drove off happy as the proverbial.

Back in the flat I did a quick furniture rearranging then wandered across the road to catch the old number 4 bus to Waterloo. I’m going to miss the old number 4 when I’ve finished with the flat for there’ll be little reason to get it again. Except, maybe for my graduation. When I’ve finished this damn dissertation, that is.

Which I must now get back to as I sit on the crowded 8pm train home.

My posts will be a bit sparse for the next few weeks as I strive to complete my dissertation. As always with these things, I am rapidly running out of time and need all that is left. I have cancelled all engagements and will chain myself to my desk for the duration.

Study, study, study!

Work was fun today. What am I saying? It’s ALWAYS fun! So…work was fun today, as usual. I have been asked to work on another project and leave the Art Project alone for a bit. It’s cleaning up oil painting records in prelude to a big photographic project.

The records (there’s 230 of them) are all pretty good and just need a little tweak here and there but some work needs to be done on the People register where it links.

I researched lots of interesting people today. Among them was ‘Honest’ George Graham. He was a horologist and scientific instrument maker who lived from around 1673 until 1751. While he was an amazing guy anyway, his obituary speaks volumes about him. This is what was printed after he died:

His temper was not less communicative than his genius was penetrating, and his principal view was not either the accumulation of wealth, or the diffusion of the same, but the advancement of science and the benefit of mankind. As he was perfectly sincere, he was without suspicion; as he was above envy he was candid, and as he had a relish for true pleasure he was generous. He frequently lent money, but never could be prevailed upon to take any interest; and for that reason he never placed out any money on government securities. He had bank-notes which were thirty years old by him when he died; and his whole property, except his stock-in-trade, was found in a strong-box, which, though it was less than would have been heaped up by avarice, was yet more than would have remained to prodigality.

Sounds like a wonderful guy to me!

Another interesting chap today was the one who pioneered the idea of transporting beef around the world in cold storage. He was Australian. Actually he was born in Scotland but he thought of the idea of freezing meat while working in the newspaper industry in Australia.

His name was James Harrison and he lived from 1816 to 1893. He kept trying to achieve the holy grail of sending dead cow to the UK but each time it failed. Between attempts, he’d return to his job as the editor of the Melbourne Age. Amazing guy.

I needed to mow the lawn before I went off to the high seas. I remember standing at the back door on the Friday morning thinking just that. As the rain fell. My mower doesn’t particularly like wet grass. it gets all clogged and refuses to move unless I brush its teeth every ten feet. Anyway, suffice to say, I didn’t mow the lawn.

I should have mowed the lawn as soon as I returned (well, the next day actually as I arrived home after 9pm) but it was raining and I couldn’t. We have had one day without rain this week and I spent it waiting for the BT guy at the Canary Wharf flat!

It is still raining as I type this on Thursday night. I can hear it lashing the windows. Plus Day-z just trotted up beside me for a pat and she’s wet.

Work tomorrow – the first time for what seems an age.

Adele, Dave, Hamish and Molly are visiting Scotland at the moment. About six months ago, Adele booked four tickets to see Wicked in London. It is Molly’s favourite show. I found out today she has now seen it four times! Molly is nine.

Anyway, I have had the Broadway soundtrack for yonks and really love the songs so I was looking forward to it a lot. And boy did it live up to expectations! I know mum is going to see it so I’ll not spoil it by saying too much, so fear not! You can read on, mum.

The story revolves around the Wicked Witch of the West from OZ (Elphaba) and how she became wicked. It features Glinda the Good and her relationship with Elphaba. I guess it’s basically a prequel to OZ though the two stories merge during act 2 as we see why a lot of things happened the way they did in the original story.

I thought it was masterfully done. Nothing is left out. It is wonderful. However, what was even more wonderful was the two leading ladies. Louise Dearman (Glinda) and Rachel Tucker (Elphaba) were fantastic. Wonderful voices, great acting, all round brilliant. Couldn’t fault either of them. It was a matinee as well but they still gave their all. According to Adele, in the Australian production the cast put on American accents but here in London they all sound home grown. I have no idea why they would do that in Australia. I mean to say, OZ isn’t in America. They could just as easily have Australian accents as not. A bit weird. Of course there is an outside chance that the Australian cast are actually American but that does seem a bit unlikely. But back to the London production.

The male love interest, Fiyero, was a bit of a disappointment. Several years ago there was a show on the BBC whereby a group of people vied for the role of Joseph in Joseph and His Amazing Technocolour Dreamcoat. The winner was a guy called Lee Mead. I didn’t watch the show but have seen photos and ads for the musical and thought he looked perfect for Joseph. I assume he could sing the part as well because he performed it on the West End for quite some time. In Wicked, Lee Mead played Fiyero.

I thought he struggled with the low notes, losing some of his words and he wasn’t insincere enough when we first meet him. He has a Joseph niceness about him that doesn’t really work for the part of Fiyero. A pity but, given the show is primarily for the two leading ladies, this can be overlooked.

After the two leading ladies, the chorus was next best. They had enormous energy on stage and it didn’t let up at all. Even the flying monkeys! Just what you want in a big musical. And then, of course, there was the score. Wonderful.

The theatre was completely sold out and the audience absolutely loved it. I had one of those moments I always have when I’m dragged off to see a musical – I love it totally and wonder why I don’t go to more.

The only dampener on the whole thing was the typical London weather. We left the theatre and it was raining. But I can live with that, even if the Wicked Witch of the West can’t.

I have just returned from a boat trip in France with the Weasels. I had a good time (on the whole) but am very glad to be home. I haven’t been able to talk to Mirinda for the last ten days! And texting was intermittent at best.

I shall write more later.

Up at the crack of dawn, John and I wandered into the village to use the public conveniences (which were very convenient), collect fresh bread for the boat, stock up on a few supplies (for instance, we’d finished off a few bottles of cider which needed replacing) and then wandered back. In typical French fashion, the charcuterie does not open on a Monday.

We set off on the canal at about 9am with most hands awake and drinking tea. We navigated through a few locks – The Captain did try and ram one but we’ll not mention that here – and managed to miss the dock at St Laurent. This pissed Matt off to the extent that when we reached Malestroit (he more or less accused John and Darren of deliberately missing the dock), he and Bev took off, walking back so they could visit a prehistoric site, as the rest of us went up to the medieval centre ville.

What a lovely place. A fantastic collection of gargoyles adorn the outside of the church. The inside had a bit too much Jesus in it for my liking (I prefer a good sprinkling of saints as well) but did have a wonderful construction of wooden scaffolding in the tower. It was a very impressive bit of engineering and we all marvelled at it. Actually we marvelled more at the scaffolding than the church.

Interestingly the bell started pealing as we entered the doors. Lorna claimed it is because she’s a lapsed catholic and they like to let everyone know when one returns to the arms of the church.

We wandered around for a bit before sitting at a bar for a few beers (Sean had a Kir, which he said was very refreshing) before setting off for the supermarket for supplies. While I was wandering around on my own I found the world famous Malestroit lintel. It’s hidden down a little alley and is not that easy to find, except by accident. I tried to convince the others that they should see it but they decided to wait for the photo.

The famous lintel at Malestroit

It has, carved into its surface, three ancient maxims in three ancient languages, Hebrew, Greek and Latin. They say, roughly,
Hebrew: I have hope in your mercy, Jehovah
Greek: Know yourself
Latin: The ground is only one short stay, it is the sky God has reserved for us, like a fatherland

From what I can translate from the sign, it was originally made in around 1470 and was part of a convent. It somehow ended up in Malestroit, over what appears to be a barn door, down a nondescript alley, in 1828. I have to say, the Greek one is the only one that really appeals to me.

At the supermarket much time was spent in the cheese section as we debated which ones would make the boat the smelliest and then duly bought them. We have a cheese drawer on the boat. It’s very good at keeping the smelly stuff at bay…until it’s opened. You realise pretty quickly that it is the cheese drawer. On the hotter days we’d have to scoop up the runnier stuff and pour it into a bottle for later consumption.

We gradually wandered back to the boat, unpacked our groceries and then settled down for a nice lunch on the top deck. At least John, Lorna, Darren and I did. Sean and Carlee had disappeared and Matt and Bev were…well, who knows. It was lovely sitting in the sun enjoying French smelly cheese, cider and salad.

Eventually we had a boat full as they wandered back in dribs and drabs and we once more set off. The prehistoric site which Matt so wanted to see was a bit of a damp squib, by the way.

The canal progressed through the countryside, arrow straight in parts, as we headed towards our next nights stop, Le Roc Saint Andre. It has an amazing bridge! Before the bridge is a big campsite with a pontoon for boats to dock at but this was full so we continued under the bridge. On the other side was a lovely long pontoon, completely empty. We claimed it for all Weaseldom and tied up.

Next to the pontoon was a small park which contained a cavern with a statue of the Virgin Mary with gifts of flowers (it sort of resembled a very small version of Lourdes) and a couple of young, hormone inflamed youngsters, clearly practising for their dentistry exams.

After docking, we took a wander into the small town. It’s high up on a hill and has a bizarre steeple on its church. It also sells weasel beer. It’s not really weasel beer but the beer I had last time I was in Brittany with a label that looks like a weasel. Suffice to say, Lorna, Darren, John and I settled outside a small bar and consumed a few. We were soon joined by Sean who also had a few.

The odd steeple at Le Roc Sainte Andre

The decision to eat at the same establishment was an easy one. There wasn’t anywhere else. Fortunately the food was delicious and we all stuffed ourselves, drinking cider like it was running out.

Feeling somewhat full, I decided to go for a bit of a walk and was eventually joined by Lorna and Darren as we searched for a chateau that was distinctly indicated on a sign post but, in true French fashion, did not indicate how far it was.

I have a game I play in these cases. I decide how long I aim to walk for and if I have not found the thing I am walking towards by then, I simply turn around and come back. It saves a lot of shoe leather. I explained this to Lorna and Darren and they agreed to play by the rules. We had 15 minutes and then it was back to the boat.

When we reached our limit we turned and spied a couple of shadow figures approaching us. And then there was a great commotion as two owls fought it out in a night time dogfight, high in the trees. It was extraordinary and had us fearing for our lives! Actually, that’s not true. We made up a silly story to account for it. The story ended up somewhat embellished and broadened to include a kitten in a wheel chair that served the older owl in return for the gift of flight. I guess you had to be there.

Anyway, we gradually made our way back to the dock, choosing a path we hadn’t been down, testing our resolve to trust in the gods of night time wanderers, who didn’t let us down.

By the way, we didn’t see the chateau as it was further than 15 minutes away.

As usual (for Weasel things) John & I were first up. Having abluted in the very handy, very clean and, obviously, quite new, toilet block (we endeavoured to seek these out at each stop and each became known as ‘the happy crapper’) beside the creperie, we set off for the nearby village for a visit to the patisserie for some fresh baguettes (we also had a sneaky pastry each). It was then on with the kettle and, after John woke the various weasels with a morning cuppa, we set off to continue our way down the river Vilaine.

Things cruised along very well. We spotted two otters and a kingfisher (John’s first) but best of all, we saw what was either a fairly sizable weasel or a normal size stoat or, what it probably was, a mink. It was black and was bouncing along the bank as if following us. While most people were asleep for the otters, everyone rushed to see the weasel off the starboard bow. It was very exciting.

It is very relaxing just moving along the water at a leisurely pace. We have to negotiate quite a few locks but, unlike England, they are all manned. It’s all very simple because of this. We just need someone at either end of the boat and someone at the helm. Either we hand ropes up to the lock keeper or the lock keeper hands us ropes from the shore. We hold these to keep the boat steady as the water is let out or in. The back gates close and the water fills up. The front gates open and we move out. All very simple.

Not so simple, however, at Redon. This is where the Vilaine River joins the Brest & Nantes Canal. The lock passes under a footbridge which must also be lifted. We had a rather large audience for this one and they were royally entertained. At one stage the lock keeper thought that two boats would fit. Our boat is so long, this is pretty impossible so, having managed to negotiate the narrow entrance and pull right up to our stern, it was then sent back out…because it wouldn’t fit as well. Anyway, we eventually left the lock and joined the canal.

We stopped at what appeared to be a scouting for boys type adventure park. At least there were ropes and bridges and things in the sparse woodland, tracks and trails everywhere and lost of scouts. There were no berths to be had on the pontoons so we stabbed the bank with our nose and made ourselves fast with a stake, using the handy aluminium drawbridge for egress from the boat. The photos of it look like we ran into the bank but it was all carefully planned.

Most of us headed off to check the place out. Matt went for a jog. Sean and Carlee went and took photos of each other climbing rocks and it rained. Quite a lot. Those that remained aboard the boat were rewarded by remaining dry as well. I was drenched. Matt was drenched-er. We had a lovely lunch, waited for the stragglers and set off, once the rain had moved to another part of France.

We ended up at a small place called St Martin sur Oust where we bought gallons of cider and a cider boule each. John cooked his world famous pasta and tuna dish while the rest of us changed into our pirate gear and a jolly good pirate party was had, with lots of ‘Argh’s and general over enthusiastic boisterousness that anyone listening or watching would have not understood. In fact, cars would slow down, check us out and drive quickly on.

We dined al fresco as the evening was lovely and rain free. We had a very funny night, full of weasel silliness and a lot of cider.

Pirates aboard HMS Weasel

Those that slept woke at 2am and we left by 2.30. I was in Darren & Lorna’s car with Sean and we had a rockin’ 80s party all the way to Dover, inventing along the way the chicken-duck and the Taliban hiding in the back of the car. Sean said he really wants a t-shirt that says ‘I am not Taliban’.

We were among the few unlucky cars called aside to be checked in the random way customs sometimes has and a jollier pair of customs officials I have never seen! Especially for 4 in the morning. They gave the car a cursory glance and waved us through. We parked in lane 45 and queued at Costa’s in the misnamed Food Village.

There was one person serving in Costa’s; there was boat load of people in the queue. We queued until an announcement came for us to rejoin our cars and begin boarding the ferry. The queue vanished as we all returned to our cars, coffee-less.

Eventually we boarded the ferry. The guy stopped us, unsure whether the massive cavernous space before us had enough room – he checked with the captain, frantic on the phone – and, satisfied, waved us through. We parked and wandered upstairs.

I’m used to Brittany Ferries. The Dover Ferry is like an arcade, or a down market mall. It also rattles. And it’s very busy. I don’t think I’ll suggest we ever go to France this way.

We headed down for our cars and left the ferry, joining the French traffic, mostly made up of British cars and then the heavens opened and it poured down. The speed signs indicated we could drive at 170 in the dry and 110 in the rain. This was so heavy we’d be lucky to reach 15.

In Darren and Lorna’s car, Sean and I went to sleep very quickly and, so John says, everyone in his car went instantly into a group coma.

At our first motorway services, Carlee wanted to swap with me so she could sit with Sean, which meant I couldn’t sleep as I’d imagined I would, because I was next to the driver. It was also very warm in John’s car. This meant it was a constant battle to keep my eyes open.

This weekend is, apparently, a big thing in France (tomorrow is the feast of the assumption, which is popular) and everyone was out on the motorways. Interestingly, the French seem to like their motorway services a lot. They queue for everything; toilet, food, petrol, baby changing facilities, etc. The services are always packed solid. Actually more than solid. There is generally more people than there is room. I think quite a few had been there for a few days, waiting for the loo.

We eventually made it to Messac, having lost Darren and Lorna and then driving slowly so they could catch us up. We communicated by walkie talkie which managed to pick up other people on the same frequency, generally in French. Anyway, all was fine and the satnav managed to get us to the boatyard without many problems.

Our boat is very long. Rather than being a bigger boat all round, it’s like the makers had decided to stretch it out. It has many berths. It is very comfortable.

The HMS Weasel

Most special is that John and I, as the only singles, each have our own room. Tres luxurious.

We had a bit of argy bargy leaving the dock (hitting other boats, running aground, etc) but we eventually managed to head down the river.

We had dinner at the creperie at St-Anne Vilaine. Of course I had a galette complet and we all drank cidre. The creperie though small is very popular and it’s not difficult to see why. The food was excellent.
I was finding it increasingly difficult to keep my eyes open and, eventually after we made the long trek back to the boat (about 100 feet) I collapsed onto my top bunk. I have no idea what time it was. I was instantly asleep. I woke up at 6:30 feeling more refreshed and awake than I have for a long time.

Left Farnham for Battle as the rain started sprinkling down, a sprinkle which followed me all the way it seemed. A quick change at Waterloo for Waterloo East and I was heading back south. It’s the old spoke thing.

If you imagine London is the centre of a bicycle wheel, all the transport links head in towards it. It could just as easily be any big centre (Manchester, Glasgow, Edinburgh, etc) but London demonstrates it best. What this means is that if you want to travel around the rim, most of the time it’s only possible to go via London. This doesn’t actually apply to Farnham as I could have travelled via Havant and across the bottom to Brighton but this would have meant about six trains and taken about 4 hours. And so I went in to Waterloo and then came back out again. At least I didn’t have to cross London.

And so I found myself on a train heading to Battle (where the tussle happened in 1066) and John’s place, laden with rucksack and netbook, phone and iPod. Looking forward to a jolly good pirating week, I’m listening to a collection of pirate shanties recorded by a few famous rock stars. It’s called Rogue’s Gallery and is definitely putting me in the mood.

So I was first to arrive at John’s. We had a good long chat, catching up, just shooting the breeze, over coffee and then beer, naturally. The rumour was that Lorna, Darren, Bev and Matt would arrive more or less simultaneously. There had been no news from Sean. This is not unusual.

Bev & Matt were next. I’m not sure why but it appears that Matt is not talking to me. He’s gone all sulky. Strange, but then he is, really. It does make things a bit uncomfortable. I did attempt to talk to him a few times but he’s not really up for it so I stopped and just kept being incredibly funny, to force him to laugh. Which didn’t really work.

Lorna and Darren turned up shortly afterwards and, eventually we all sat down to a lovely chilli and sticky rice dinner, expertly prepared by John and accompanied by beer. At some stage we had a text from Sean, saying he’d arrive at 9:30. A while later (at about 9:30) we had another text from Sean saying he’d arrive at 11:30. We decided not to leave him any food and ate it all.

We sat in the lounge listening to a bit of pirate music, eating Lorna’s yummy cake, until Darren was sleepy enough to go to bed. We have to leave the house by 2:30am so the drivers (Darren & John) have to be in bed early. This prompted everyone to retire early as well. I, like a fool, am staying up to work on my dissertation. I shall sleep in the car. I’m very good at that. I am also going to meet Sean at the station. I don’t know why but at least I’ll get some fresh air.

The train arrived slightly early but I was there to meet them and escort them up the very steep hill to John’s place. They were very grateful, if somewhat exhausted. They had a laptop with them. I mention this because Matt has also brought one. Just can’t get away from them! And of course, I have my netbook.