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.

So. My final Weasel adventure? Perhaps. These are my notes from the final day and the trip across the Channel.

What is wrong with these people? Clearly they’re not like me at all. Perhaps, after all is said and done, I am ill-suited to archaeology. Smart arse know it alls.

There seems to be a desire for nothing to change and for everything to be ‘as it should’. Why, for instance, was there such a negative reaction to the huge Roman style building at the top of La Gacilly? Why must everything conform?

Along the canal we spotted a chateau with a satellite dish. This was seen as some sort of crime against humanity! Perhaps we should have been rowing up the river in a hollowed out log. Actually, I’m not sure about all these structures. I think leaving the trees 50 million years ago was a mistake.

After all, what is the original home of Homo sapien? Pre-civilisation, pre-agriculture, pre-technology…caves, I guess. Well, that’s what I want to see. A landscape unblemished by the trappings of ‘civilised’ human-kind.

But who is the arbiter of how far back we should go? This is, of course, a personal issue and one that makes no sense. We sit in a modern vessel, eating a drinking the products of civilisation (we didn’t have to go and hunt or brew anything) and claim people shouldn’t have satellite dishes.

What has been painfully apparent on this trip is how negative everything is viewed. Too new, too old, too many tourists, not enough modern conveniences (how ironic), etc. None of them view the world with an appreciation of the new as something beautiful. If this is archaeology then I don’t like it very much.

When I see something I’ve never seen before, I am generally all wide-eyed and enthusiastic, wanting to learn about it. I don’t criticise things because they encompass different periods of human history. Ok, if I see something I don’t like then I’ll say so but I don’t just simply dislike everything because it’s painted the wrong colour. Art must be an impossible appreciation for these people.

I hope I am never so bitter and twisted that I see the world through ashen glasses. While I may kid myself with my rose tint, I am, at least, generally a happy soul.

This is why I need to go off on my own from time to time. At first I thought this was because I had fallen into the trap of the lonely but I am now convinced it is because I need to escape the negativity that seems to surround the group like a dark cloud, a thick fog of despair.

The boat could be Charon’s dark barge, cruising the Styx!

Why does Matt ALWAYS look so miserable? What’s that all about? He seems to take great care to make sure his mouth is set in a grimace at all times. This is all you see. Sort of like an anti-Gary. Maybe that’s what he is. My antidote.

I realise how independent he is – I’d be an idiot if I didn’t – but he takes it to ridiculous lengths…as if no-one else exists or even matters. I guess that wouldn’t be too bad if you had something to offer the world.

Why does he just leave the boat without a word to anyone? It’s like he doesn’t know (or care) how a group works. It’s like he feels as if everyone else should just do what his agenda indicates.

But Matt I could understand, after all, he’s just unpleasant but Sean? What was Sean’s problem? I thought I had a great relationship with Sean. He has always been wide-eyed, innocent and up for total fun. Why did he suddenly decide not to talk to me? And all of a sudden he becomes very pally with Matt.

At first I figured Matt wasn’t talking to me because of that night after the Globe when he acted like a child and Sean and I took Bev up to Trafalgar Square. But clearly that wasn’t it. Matt has some other problem with me.

Interestingly, the night at La Gacilly, Bev was up and awake when I returned from walking the streets. We had a long, hushed chat. She told me how she wasn’t enjoying herself, how she feels she can’t be herself. I get so sick of telling her how she’s in a ridiculously self destructive relationship that I don’t any more. What’s the point?

I guess I’m fortunate in that, if I choose, I can probably manage to never see Matt again. The same with all of them, really. Though it would be a shame to lose touch with Lorna, Darren, John and Tom. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they all just put up with me and Matt is the only one honest enough to ignore me.

Anyway, when all is said and done, I think my holidays should only be spent with Mirinda. We see things the same.

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A highlight of the trip was as we boarded the ferry back to England. Sean and Carlee were with Lorna and Darren. We cruised on ahead, leaving them at the border control. They never made it onto our ferry because Carlee’s visa was out of date.

This meant they all missed the ferry and had to try for the next one, leaving Carlee and Sean in France.

I had a brief exchange with Lorna in Bayeux today. She can’t stand the negativity either. Nothing’s ever good.

Biggest surprise – at dinner last night, in a fantastic creperie, Sean decided he was talking to me again. I assumed this was because he was sitting opposite me and Matt was too far away. Oddly, he not only talked to me but was full of fun! He decided, rather than have a dessert, he would have a second savoury course. He ordered the same as I’d had because it looked so delicious.

Actually, if I’m being honest, I think he felt guilty. Sean isn’t the sort of person to carry on in this way.

The best thing about Bayeux was how I basically spent the entire day on my own. We parted after much messing about and I just wandered off.

I went down to the river, walked to the cathedral, basically went everywhere we’d been when we went to Normandy. Nothing’s changed.

I ran into John, Darren and Lorna at one stage. After a beer, we all went over to the allied cemetery.

At dinner, I fancied an expensive wine. I told John I was going to order it and pay for it rather than expect the kitty to bear the cost. Although John complained and insisted, I insisted more and managed to win!

When the wine arrived Matt was all over it. Complaining how expensive it was but then insisting on a glass. Pathetic little man. As I said to John, I couldn’t care less, as long as I had a glass. Mind you, it turned out to be a pretty expensive glass!

I am sitting in a grotty little tabac in Redon enjoying a couple of beers. I feel like a local. How many years has it taken to be so confident? I fit in awfully well. Really, all I need to be able to do is to order beer and know the drill for repeat orders and I’m in a very happy place.

Matt and Bev just walked passed. I’m pretty sure Bev saw me. I am equally sure Matt ignored this. Works for me.

I may return to the boat before I get morose.

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