The House Husband

Another day that started blue and warm but passed through some horrid weather. While we loved Clifton Common, it was very cold on the top deck of the open topped bus!

We searched in vain for the mythical Starbucks that Mirinda’s little friend assured us was just up the road. We found a container. Actually Mirinda declared that she was standing in it while in the middle of a small road beside a big hotel. Never trust an iPhone is what I get from that. We decided to walk up to the Starbucks we’d actually seen yesterday.

After a lovely breakfast of muffin, luxury fruit toast and latte, we wandered into the city centre to catch the open topped bus beside the fountain. We had ten minutes to wander around before it left. I was surprised to find there were actually other people out and about, ready to tour the city.

A few hardy souls atop the bus

We boarded and were taken on a lovely tour of Bristol, hearing once more the stories we’d already heard or read about. It’s quite funny the way Bristol claims John Cabot as one of their own when he was actually Italian! Still, the city of Bristol did fund the Matthew and it’s trip to America. Apparently the rumour is that the mayor of Bristol at the time was Richard Amerike and Cabot simply named what he found after him.

There are other theories as to the origin of the name but I quite like the idea of Cabot landing and calling it America after the mayor only to have it renamed Newfoundland, which is pretty boring. Fancy having a country named after a dog.

Speaking of names, Bristol means ‘the place at the bridge’ in Old English, because it was the only place where you could cross the river. This bridge was around for a long time but then, as transport grew so did the needs of the bridge and so a bigger, tougher was built which they then built shops on. This was then widened and the buildings removed. The bridge is still there (albeit a different one many times over) and is a main crossing over the river Avon. It’s now called Bristol Bridge which, if you think about it, means the place at the bridge bridge.

Now, of course, the most famous bridge is Brunel’s magnificent suspension bridge at Clifton. What a fantastic piece of engineering! It spans the Avon gorge, supplying magnificent views in both directions. At least it would on a nice day. Today wasn’t a particularly nice day so the photography opportunities were few and far between. Here’s the best shot I could get, looking across it. That’s Mirinda on the left with her earmuffs and big coat on.

Clifton suspension bridge on a gloomy day

We walked out to the little viewing point at the Clifton end but Mirinda started to get wobbly legs so we only stopped for some photos then walked back into Clifton, where we visited the Christchurch church which has an exact replica in Shanghai. It’s to do with a bunch of missionaries who craved their old church so much they decided to build one exactly the same. I’m not sure what the Chinese thought of it. it probably looked quite odd when they’d finished.

After a stroll around the big, open church, we headed off to Cote for lunch. Mirinda wanted to experience the joys of a restaurant chain that she loves in Farnham but, sadly, the restaurant had other ideas. It was full. Actually the Cote in Clifton village has a big thick curtain, like the one that separates business and cattle classes in domestic aircraft. There were plenty of empty tables so maybe we weren’t dressed appropriately.

Crestfallen, Mirinda led us to the Bombay Spice, ostensibly because she wanted to go to the loo. We sat, the only customers, and had a quite enjoyable Indian meal for lunch. The Kingfisher was lovely. And we did manage to avoid the downpour by being inside. This was the second time we’d managed this feat as it had poured down while we sst in a small cafe trying to get a coffee and a hot chocolate even though we appeared to be invisible.

After a stroll around the streets of Clifton village, where we found a lovely Georgian square, we rejoined the tour bus for the trip back into Bristol.

Victoria Square, Clifton Village

We decided to forego the dubious pleasures of the open deck and sat downstairs. The tour guide had also decided the bottom deck was preferable. We enjoyed his patter all the way back to the bus stop near the hotel were we left the bus.

Back in our hotel room, we had a cup of tea/coffee after I convinced the hotel staff that they did actually have coffee in their stores even though the two foreigners I asked claimed they didn’t. To be fair, the hotel is pretty good and I’d recommend it to anyone wanting something nice and clean and close to the city centre and the man station. Just don’t run out of coffee!

It was soon time for Mirinda to make the lonely (apart from an annoyingly reticent Linda) drive back to her student accommodation in Bath. I lay on the bed and watched a very entertaining hour of football, enjoying Birmingham’s defeat of Arsenal in the Carling Cup final. I then popped out to the King’s Head for a pint of 6X before returning to the room feeling pretty happy.

So I was enjoying a little afternoon snooze in front of my Netbook, pretending to absorb information about eBooks while Mirinda happily gazed at the words on her Sony eReader when I was suddenly whipped back into full consciousness. In the frenzy to remember what to pack from the flat for the trip to Bath tomorrow, she’d forgotten the power adapter for her laptop. It may have been a little amusing, watching her panic grow as she realised it was nowhere to be found in the house. My concern was that she had left it either in Dublin or on the train returning from Dublin. She assured me she hadn’t.

It was 3:20. We were due to go to the Spotted Cow for 7:30 for our anniversary dinner so I had to make tracks if I was to get to the flat and back in time. With all haste, I grabbed the essentials and was out of the door in five minutes. I would like to note at this stage that we both forgot our anniversary this year. As it was, Mirinda was in Dublin. It was Fiona who alerted Mirinda to the fact. Good job neither of us are particularly date focussed!

Anyway, back to the journey. The 3:58 train to Waterloo was strangely busy but I managed to get a modicum of work done on my hastily grabbed Netbook. I also managed to stay awake. No mean feat given the sleepy state of my brain.

Carmen has taken to waking me up by whacking me with her paw. This would be all well and good except she keeps doing it earlier and earlier. This is perhaps my own fault as I let the poodles sleep with me while Mirinda is in town. It’s actually very funny when they don’t wake up before the alarm. When it goes off they just go insane, wondering what it means. Such jolly fun!

The train, meanwhile, filled up by the time we arrived at Woking and I had a rather full trip into Waterloo but, strangely, it was quiet enough for me to work. It was a lot easier when the young Goth with the hair over her face stopped ripping lengths of stick tape off a roll. At least, I think that’s what she was doing. It sounded like she was but I couldn’t see her.

From the station, I made a hurried, dodging dash for the bus stop and almost immediately climbed aboard a number 4 bus. Things were going well. Even the diversion around St Paul’s wasn’t a problem. I arrived at the flat, ran in, grabbed the lead, which sat with all the élan of a panther in a tree, on the dining table amid the wreckage of DVDs and stuff I didn’t really look at, and was back on the street in about five minutes.

I stood at the bus stop, weighing up my options. I decided I would wait a maximum of ten minutes for a bus. If one hadn’t arrived by then, I’d grab a taxi. After about two minutes, I flagged down taxi. The driver managed to get me to Waterloo with enough time to buy a coffee at Nero’s before walking swiftly to platform 10 and boarding the 5:53 to Alton.

All was well in my safe little end of the carriage. A few people dotted around meant I could spread out over the two seats. My Netbook, my book, my coffee, all of it, comfy and handy. At the last minute, just before the train doors slammed guillotine-like shut, a sudden influx of puffing, running passengers meant I had to quickly gather all my bits together and share my space. All the way to Aldershot, I had to share my space!

Mirinda sent me a text to suggest she meet me at Farnham and we would drive straight to the Spotted Cow, alleviating the need for me to walk home. Sounded good to me.

And there she was. Actually waiting for me. We drove up to the Spotted Cow and had a lovely (and quite large) anniversary dinner before going home for an anniversary viewing of the latest Midsomer Murders, which was as hilarious as usual. Joyce really does make me laugh. And she was on fine form in this episode.

I am on a very tight deadline to finish my essays for this semester. Of course, I have no-one to blame but myself. I’ve managed a LOT of reading so it’s just a question of getting the words down, I guess. Anyway, that’s what I spent half of today (and most of tonight) doing. The first half was quite different…

I had to go to see our lawyers to identify myself. For the flat buying. Now, we have bought and/or sold 10 properties with them over the last 10 years so you’d think they’d know us by now. I sort of like to imagine that when a new instruction comes in from us, they all say “Look! It’s another one from those two crazy, property indecisive Aussies!” If anyone does say that, it makes no difference. Each time, we have to trundle off to Fleet and tell them who we are.

I also had my yearly check up at the doctor. It happens over here when you have asthma. They need to make sure you know how to use the spray you’ve been using since you were 19. Every year they need to make sure. This used to be a right pain when we were at Haslemere because the doctor was miles away but now it’s a whizz. The doctor is down the end of the road. Brilliant.

On top of that, Mirinda was home yesterday (for book club) so I walked her up to the station this morning first. After waving her train bye bye, I then turned around and walked all the way back again, winding up at the doctor. She measured me, weighed me, tested my breathing, asked me the same questions she asked me last year, made sure I knew how to inhale and then let me go. It was then onto my first bus.

When I was working at Woking, getting to Fleet was quite easy. One train. That was it. I could pop over in my lunch hour. It is a bit of a hike from the station but even so, pretty simple and direct. Now, however, it’s not so simple. Or direct. Of course, there’s no bus from Farnham to Fleet. That would be far too easy. I have to get one to Aldershot then change for the Fleet bus. This wasn’t too bad, I only had a ten minute wait. And then a long trek, winding through the countryside, stopping at awful looking estates, until I was deposited outside the lawyer’s office.

I walked in and told the receptionist why I was there. She took my documents, photocopied them, returned the originals and that was it. I could have been anyone. The whole thing took 5 minutes. I then walked back out to the street ready for ther trip back to Aldershot.

The Fleet bus only comes every hour so it was with a bit of dismay that I realised I had 50 minutes to wait for the next one. Fortunately a nearby Wetherspoons was open so I sat and nursed a lovely pint, read the paper and waited there.

It was then back to Aldershot in order to switch to another bus for Farnham. I had a 15 minute wait this time. I stayed on the bus into Farnham so I could shop for my lunch and dinner then walked home.

I had left home at 7:20am and returned at 12:45pm. If I was a driver, the whole thing would have taken less than an hour! That’s what you get for doing the right thing and being fiercely independent.

Tonight I am going to blog about three news stories I spotted in the Metro, the free London paper. Actually, it used to be the only free London paper but now there seems to be a lot more. Not that that matters. The Metro is available everywhere in the capital and is handy to read on the bus or to do the sudoku when lectures get dull.

Well, I was reading it on the number 4 bus this morning on a journey that took twice as long as it should have. There is repair work going on all over Waterloo Bridge (has been since last November and is set to continue till December this year!) and it’s reduced to two lanes – that’s one in either direction. Sometimes they also close the tunnel which goes from the end of Waterloo Bridge, under The Strand, which makes the first part of journey a commuting hell. But I don’t want to blog about that!

So…I was reading the Metro and three stories struck me. I decided then that I should blog about them.

Swallows
I heard about this on the radio, almost a month ago, before reading it in the paper this morning. A flock of 76 swallows flew straight into the ground in Somerset. They tried to fly through someone’s concrete driveway. Apparently it was an awful sight. I heard a vet interviewed who was upset at being so powerless. He couldn’t understand what had happened or why. A witness described it as if they were just flying through the air.

Swallows fly in big swarms and make all sorts of beautiful shapes in the sky around dusk. Scientists believe they do this to appear a much bigger threat when they are threatened by predators. Generally they will fly into reed beds to escape. Apparently the driveway is the same colour as a reed bed, a vet said.

Granny
I hate it when a sensationalist newspaper prints a story that says one thing but decides a headline saying the opposite is more appropriate. This is one of the (many) reasons I refuse to read the Daily Mail or the Express! It doesn’t usually happen in the Metro but today it did.

The headline went something like “Granny fined and tagged for selling goldfish!” In fact, if you go to Google and put in ‘granny goldfish’, you’ll find this story everywhere doing exactly the same thing as the irresponsible journalist did in the Metro.

The story goes that this granny (I think she was 77) worked in her daughter’s pet shop. She sold a child a goldfish. This is against the law. She was fined £1000 and electronically tagged. She had a curfew imposed on her, meaning she wouldn’t be able to babysit her grandchild. The family called it legal lunacy and this is how the newspapers have pushed the story. It’s hard not agree, and most people would be so incensed by this, I doubt they’d read the final paragraphs.

It is in the final paragraphs that we discover how the family has been warned previously about animal cruelty, particularly about a cockatiel in the shop window, and have been told by the RSPCA they need to smarten themselves up or be closed down. On other ocassions they have been caught selling animals to children without an accompanying adult. The final sentence in the Metro had a quote from an RSPCA officer saying “We do not take animal cruelty lightly!” Damn right, too.

Hole in the ground
This is a rather sad story. Nero had a palace in Rome. It was called the Golden Palace (Domus Aurea) and was amazingly amazing. It sat on top of the Palatine Hill, overlooking the Forum and the Colosseum and the Circus Maximus. It had a rotating dining room which moved by way of water courses and large rock spheres. It was adorned with magnificent murals and mosaics.

Within a decade of Nero’s death (AD68) the place had been stripped of most of its building materials, filled in and built over. They weren’t too keen on Nero. It was he who fiddled as Rome burned. After the fire, he built himself the palace and taxed Rome mercilously to pay for it. Not popular. Anyway, the palace remained buried for ages and then, in the 15th century, it was rediscovered after a chap fell into a hole.

It’s been raining in Rome recently and quite heavily it seems. Well, it has weakened the roof of the palace, which was bearing a lot of weight – two metres of soil – and it all collapsed. Into the vaulted ceilings. Horror! Archaeologists are frantic, the mayor of Rome is beside himself. And, last but not least, Dawn and I walked on top of the very spot when we visited Rome in 2008. Sad face.

Two news items cropped up today which have amazed me.

Firstly, a woman in England (the Midlands, I think) was on a bus with a very young baby. The baby started yelling for food so she proceeded to breast feed it. Another passenger complained to the driver, saying the mother was being obscene. The driver then called the woman to the front of the bus and told her to get off. Which she did, having been told she was being obscene. It was pouring with rain and she had a baby and, I presume, a stroller. She managed to get a taxi home.

The bus company, as soon as it heard of this, contacted her and apologised, sent her a bunch of flowers and some ‘vouchers’ and said they would investigate. All well and good but what I want to know is who the hell would seriously think breast feeding a baby is obscene? I mean really. It’s one of the most natural things in the world. I think the driver should have turfed the person who complained off the bus.

Then again, I did see a new sign in one of our local buses recently that reads “For the comfort of all our passengers, please do not eat or drink on the bus”. Clearly the baby would have contravened this rule and maybe been asked to stop.

Secondly, the Canadian ice hockey team was told off for celebrating their recent Olympic victory. After the spectators had left the rink (note the use of the word ‘after’) they returned, drinking beer and smoking cigars, whooping it up with the cleaning staff. Clearly someone complained and they had to get all contrite and apologise. One of the players actually had the affront to lay down on the ice!

Fortunately, the IOC and the Canadian body responsible for the sport saw fit NOT to punish anyone for celebrating the fact that they had won a gold medal and have put it all down to a natural exuberance. The players have apologised, saying they realised their celebration had strayed from the dressing room and, perhaps, shouldn’t have. Very sad, if you ask me, that people have to apologise for celebrating an Olympic win.

So who are these people complaining about such stupid things? And, more importantly, how sad are their lives that they have to? I’d throw them off the bus, especially if it was raining, for being obscene and not cheerful enough.

And, thank you mum, I fixed the photo.

Up at 6am this morning and on the train up to the big smoke. Had a wonderful experience at Waterloo. A number 4 bus was waiting at the stop so I quickly joined the queue and flashed my Oyster card at the machine, ready to sprint for a seat. Unfortunately the machine wasn’t happy with me and gave the sort of sound you expect on Family Fortunes when the word the family has picked was NOT one that the 200 people surveyed came up with.

I immediately realised my Oyster card was devoid of cash and did a quick 360° and left the bus. I had to find somewhere to recharge my card. Quick! And then I realised I had a pocket full of cash, having forgotten to hand over Mirinda’s money. I walked up to the next bus stop (where she should be) but, though the queue was very long, she was nowhere to be seen. I gave that up as a lost cause and went down to the Tube to put some dosh on my card.

Returning to the bus stop, another number 4 bus was waiting so I hopped straight on. The bus then proceeded very slowly to uni.

Call me odd, but I like a nice calm arrival followed by a coffee and maybe a visit to the loo before a leisurely stroll to class. Never happened! It was all rush and tear about, particularly as it was the first class in a new room and I had to find it as well. I did manage a quick loo stop but otherwise arrived, huffing and puffing in class.

Class went reasonably well and I was very surprised when the lecturer called me by name (I’m always certain I’m pretty invisible but clearly not today). At lunch I decided I could sprint down to Charterhouse and drop Mirinda’s money off and this I did. The uni is about 20 minutes round trip (walking very quickly) so I knew I could make it. I did but was pretty warmed up by the time I sat in the park outside the uni to drink a hastily purchased coffee. Ten minutes later is back to class for the second half of the day’s learnin’.

I HATE RUSHING!

At least going home was all easy going. I managed to get one of the good seats and worked on my essay all the way to Farnham. The poodles were VERY happy to see me.

I just want to say how much I love the Oyster card…except when it’s empty. Clearly.