Fatboy's Dribblings

USA

2009-05-17T19:37:00.011+01:00

Fabulous Las Vegas

Hoover Dam

Grand Canyon

Route 66. Williams, Arizona

Monument Valley

California Bound

Tehachapi Wind Farm

San Francisco

Bread in the USA

Spring has sprung

2009-04-24T12:14:00.009+01:00

Adam sitting nicely like a good dog should.

Both dogs steadfastly refusing to sit nicely and have their photograph taken.

The Hound dog O'Hooligans eye up some prey. Yours or mine?

Older, Greyer, Wiser?

2009-04-24T11:48:00.006+01:00

Day Out

2009-03-16T14:39:00.002Z

Snowbound of E17

2009-02-02T11:16:00.005Z

While the rest of London was paralysed by the heaviest snowfall for twenty years I thought it best to stay home, nice and cosy double wrapped in fleece. Unfortunately, doggies have to be walked and I was obliged to venture forth into the frozen wastes.

Backyard. Siberia, London E17.

Snow dogs in their winter coats. Cold paws but warm withers.

Nanook, Blithering Inuit. Siberia, London E17.

View up Jewel Road.

Jewel Road in all its snowy magnificence.

The Park.

A winter wonderland with Jack Frost nipping at your nose. Bollocks, it's freezing!

Poo Alley. Adam's favourite dumping ground.

Aveling Park Bowling Green (White?)

William Morris Museum. Someone's dinked the railings! An unscheduled skid, perhaps?

William Morris Museum in the snow.

Walthamstow Town Hall.

Winter Holiday

2009-02-02T11:13:00.002Z

Kew Gardens

2008-12-05T13:06:00.007Z

Panto Mania

2008-12-05T13:06:00.005Z

New York, New York!

2008-12-05T13:05:00.033Z

Shtatue of Liberty
Did not realize that it was thanksgiving and missed the parade, everywhere seemed strangely empty.

Seagulls salute the flag at Castle Clinton.

Slightly tired.

Are we keeping you awake?

On Broadway.

The closest we got.

Toalety. American style.

Pier 6.

Empire State Building

Where's the Empire State building?

Some hard decisions to be made in the gift shop. What? The pointless fridge magnet or the useless bookmark? What's it to be?

Chinatown

We'll have Manhattan,

The Bronx and Staten Island too.

It's lovely going through the Zoo.

And tell me what street

Compares with Mott Street In July?

Sweet pushcarts gently gliding by.

Who turned the lights on?

So, you didn't share your Peking dumplings?

Fifth Avenue

Packed out Black Friday sounds ominous, the day after Thanksgiving.

Jemina models Fall Fashions on 5th Avenue. This season we are showing plaids and pastels. Hoots Mon!

Monty dogs in Bloomingdales. Plays a tune when you press its paw. So nearly bought one of these as a Christmas present for the greyhounds but then I thought that they would dismember it before the batteries ran out.

The Rock

The Rock.

Times Square

Grand Central

East 42nd Street.

Jimmy whips out his secret weapon; a Metrocard and a Senior card.

Thoirdy-Thoird Street

The Bronx is Up and the Battery's Down.

Who's this getting on at 28th Street?

Oh no! It's Mr Blue and he's taking Pelham 123.

Why does the nutter always sit next to me?

No, no that's Downtown. We're going Uptown.

Whaddaya mean they're lost again? I said change at Union Square!

Stand away from the closing doors, please.

Whaddaya mean hijack, take me to thoirdy-thoird street? Dis is thoirdy-thoird street, you jwoirk!

Brooklyn Bridge Blues

Woody Allen and Annie Hall. Hame is wherrrr the hert is, hen. Wot!

Irene and Jimmy at the Brooklyn Bridge.

Pier 17, Fulton Street Fish Market.

Ye Olde Burger Shoppe

Jimmy, when did you last see your Metrocard? Aye cannae remember, hen.

Art Brown's

A Rainy Day in Central Poirk

The Glums

The Chums

Viewed from under a canopy of umbrellas.

A rainy day in Lexington Avenue.

Carnegie's Deli
The quintessential Jewish "kosher style" delicatessen today is the Carnegie on Fifty-fifth and Seventh Avenue in New York.

It was here that the deli became known nationwide when New York magazine rated its pastrami number one in New York in 1975. run by Sandy Levine, whose business card indicates he is the "MBD." (MBD = Married Boss's Daughter) The restaurant's motto is: "If you can finish your meal, we’ve done something wrong." 1937

Make with the pastrami sandwiches, already!

Salmon Chanted Evening, Hamalot. Blintzes, matzoh, knishes, gefiltre fish, chopped liver, egg salad, Russian dressing, kasha, kreplach and varnishkas.

The walls of the deli are nearly completely covered with autographed pictures of celebrities who have eaten there. Menu items have been named after famous patrons, including a corned beef and pastrami sandwich named after Woody Allen after the deli served as a filming location for Broadway Danny Rose. A number of items on the menu feature Broadway themes or Yiddish puns "Nosh, Nosh, Nanette" "The Egg and Oy"

Still life with pickles. Art direction by Mr James Robertson Injustice.

Corned Beef Sandwich or Pastrami Sandwich? Tough call.

Chicken soup with matzoh ball. I thought matsos were crackers like in the kosher section in Asda.

Corned beef sandwich. This is not corned beef as in Frey Bentos. Salted beef brisket. The pastrami sandwich arrives. We could have ordered "The Woody Allen" sandwich, described on the menu as "for the dedicated fresser only" which is loads of corned beef and loads of pastrami.I am torn between Pastrami and Corned beef. These is the regular size sandwich and only has around a half a pound of meat, the "gargantuan sandwiches" have far more and arrive supported on a skewer.

This is the Carnegie Gargantuan Combo Sandwich. Another diner at a nearby table very kindly posed their sandwich for me as they gazed in amazement at it, not knowing where to start. This one is a No.13; Turkey, Corned beef and Swiss cheese on pumpernickel bread served with coleslaw and Russian dressing. The occasional slice of bread qualifies it as a sandwich otherwise it's 12 inches of pure gut-busting protein.

A noble attempt to finish my sandwich. My belly is fit to bursting. No one told me that you are not expected to finish your food. You eat what you want and then take the rest away in a doggie bag.

This is the view from my stretcher as the paramedics carry me out for an emergency bellyodectomy. The chill cabinet on the right contains the cakes. Apparently they do the most magnificent cheesecakes. Let me off!

Farewell old friend. We emerge into the dark evening with the rain lashing down and the wind howling. The words of Sydney Smith echoed in my ears, "Serenely full, the epicure would say fate can not harm me for I have dined today".

Last Day

Washington Square.

Going home. Off to the airport in the limo.

Flamenco

2008-11-15T22:26:00.022Z

I don't do the Ballet and Strictly leaves me cold but I love Flamenco. Last Friday, I went with Linda and Irene to see 'Sangre Flamenca' at the Peacock Theatre. The Peacock is the West End outpost of Sadler's Wells, located in Portugal Street; a turning off Holborn Kingsway leading down to the LSE. I have walked past this theatre so many times over the years but never seen a performance.

Nuevo Ballet Español do a mixture of contemporary dance with traditional flamenco so you get the usual fiery footwork and wailing vocals in a slick, polished production with a dazzling light show and fabulous costumes.

Music was provided by the eight-piece flamenco band, Mahera featuring the renowned cantaora, María del Mar Fernández. For most of the performance, María sat on her stool at the back of the stage wrapped in a big, black shawl. She was the original singing blanket. When she stood up at the end we saw that she was just a little squirt of a thing, but what a voice!

A company of eleven dancers, five women and six men performed ensemble numbers punctuated with star turns by the founders and choreographers, Angel Rojas and Carlos Rodríguez. They all got their castanets out for one number which was a fantastic display of attacking, stamping and rattling.

I am a flamenco dancing ignoramus and can't tell a buleria or a tango from a zapateado or a jaleo but I throughly enjoyed the heart-racing, virtuoso performance which ran for nearly ninety minutes without a break.

Dancers and fancy lighting. All these pictures were either blagged or taken with my phone as I didn't have my camera with me.

Rodríguez on the left with the stubble and Rojas on the right with the sweaty armpits, they danced their boots off. I always imagine flamenco dancers after the show sitting in their dressing rooms soaking their feet in bowls of warm water and saying "Ahhhh". All that stamping, can't do your feet any good.

Post theatre drinks were taken at the George IV down the other end of Portugal Street and we enjoyed a nightcap of a few red wines (each) and then home on the tube. This is us heading north on the Piccadilly Line and about to burst into song. Ole!

The Shed

2008-10-20T10:24:00.024+01:00

Last time we saw the shed was back in July when it was being demolished, see The Wrecking Crew. Meanwhile the builders have been in and laid a good firm foundation for the new shed which is one of those devilish-cunning plastic kits which "just clicks together". Like a giant Airfix kit. We had a moment of horror when we examined the instructions as they said that it would take two people five hours to construct. Two people but how long for two duffers?

Anticipating minor difficulties, the General has called-in the heavy hitters: Mr BJ Holford Senior, the Handyman's Handyman. Here's "Pops" demonstrating the art of drilling holes. The General is demonstrating the art of effective supervision by standing around with his hands in his pockets, looking interested.

There are an huge number of parts which need to be identified and matched to the plans. They all have stickers with a part number and a description in fluent French. There are no building instructions in the plans, only pictures. Familiar?

This is part XYZ12345 and it's "Une longue bande sur la fin du mur au-dessous le coin". Zut alors!

You really need to get the parts ready for the next stage as you do the previous one but there is a great deal of standing around with hands in pockets. Progress is slow.

Well, this is the five hour mark so, theoretically, the shed is done. Time to down tools, get the beers out and celebrate. Cynics may remark upon a certain lack of upperworks to the shed.

The Second Day

Stung by accusations of bad planning the General assures us that he has studied the plans, is well prepared and raring to go. Here he is barking out his orders.

"Right, I'll have part numbers H2SO4, R2D2, C3PO and E=MC2 next. Step lively there, Fatboy!"

The Fatboy's on fire and has the walls up in a trice. Panel, Post, Place, Kick, Bang. Next! Bags full of enthusiasm, a lovely little mover and dead keen to get on with the job.

As we were rummaging around for parts and examining the plans for the next stage, an unfortunate gust of wind blew down the shed. Discouraged? Never!

Coming along nicely, this thing just clicks together. The walls are back up again, front windows installed and top fixings applied. All we need now are the corner bracket assemblies to brace the structure. Things are really starting to happen, the shed's taking shape.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Another unfortunate gust of wind. We could not identify the corner fixings fast enough to keep the build going. Question: Where were parts F1 and F2? Answer: They were packed in that big bag of stuff that we had not opened because we thought they were parts for the roof.

The light was fading, the wind was getting up and tempers were fraying. Six hours behind schedule, we closed down the site and went to the pub. That was the end of the second day.

We concluded that it had not all been wasted time as we had learned so much about the part number codes and plastic shed fabrication in general. There was a body of opinion contending that buying a wooden one and having it delivered would have been a better option.

To be continued...

Prague

2008-10-06T00:36:00.092+01:00

Prague enjoys the reputation of being the most beautiful city in the world. It is certainly one of the most photogenic and my poor old camera had a right workout as I took hundreds of snaps. I had to stop taking pictures a few times as I could feel the body of the camera starting to overheat. Here's a few favourite snaps:

Autumn leaves.

How much is that doggie in the window?

Rooftops of Prague.

Enjoying a laugh with the witches.

On the Charles Bridge.

Still life with beer; last moments waiting for the bus to the airport.

A Walking Tour of Prague

On our first morning in the city our intrepid group got the tour bus from the hotel to the Cechuv bridge at the top of the Old Town and split into two groups, each with a guide, for our walking tour. Cechuv bridge is the tourist rendezvous for Prague, it's the only place where you can park and all the tour buses congregate here. You could probably find a new tour group if you were fed up with the one you were currently with.

The tour guides carry flowers instead of umbrellas. This is our group's guide, Anna. She looked familiar; I was sure that she reminded me of someone. The backdrop is Prague castle on the other bank of the Vltava river.

Here we go off to Josefov, the old Jewish Quarter. The Town Hall with the famous clocks is in the background just after the Old-New Synagogue. You get a lot of this New-Old, Old-New business in Prague as the city was divided into two main adminstrative areas, the Old Town (Stare Mesto) and the New Town (Nove Mesto) but the New Town was established in 1348 so most of it is quite old. Josefov is very old but most of it was demolished and rebuilt at the end of the 19th century and in the 20th century most of the Jewish population was dragged off and murdered by the Nazis.

Meanwhile, we were preoccupied with dodging the street cleaners. This is a very clean city but if you want clean streets then you have to put up with trucks buzzing around spraying jets of water everywhere. You are expected to get out of the way.

We thought we had dodged the water sprayers when the Kamikaze street cleaners came round the corner and caught us again. Banzai!

Here is one of our groups outside the Old-New Synagogue and afraid to cross the street.

Entrance to the Old-New Synagogue, the oldest working synagogue in Central Europe. All for the tourists, there is no local Jewish community.

You have to pay to enter any of the historic buildings. Old-New Synagogue Tour, a snip at 200 Czech Crowns.

Entrance to the Old Jewish Cemetery, the gate is locked and guarded. Buy your tickets at the cash desk to the left. The building to the right is the Ceremonial Hall of the Jewish Burial Society, now a museum.

View of the Old Jewish Cemetery from the street. We were too mean to pay the astonishingly high entrance charges. For over 300 years this was the only burial ground permitted to Jews and due to the lack of space people had to buried one on top of the other, as many as twelve layers deep.

Dead pigeon on a roof. Josefov has the same feeling as Kazimierz in Krakow, a museum piece set in aspic. Its busy, the streets are full of visitors but the only Jewish people here are tourists.

The Spanish Synagogue, built in the flamboyant Moorish style.

It's great to be famous in Prague as you get so many things named after you. Franz Kafka never lived in this district but he is a favourite son and even on my short visit I managed to spot the following: Franz Kafka Restaurant, Franz Kafka Bar, Franz Kafka Museum, Franz Kafka Gallery, Franz Kafka Kavarner. There's probably a Franz Kafka sandwich, I wonder what it would be; Gammon and Bitter Leaves on Wry? That is my attempt at rye humour and this is the Franz Kafka statue near the Spanish Synagogue.

Close up of the Jewish Town Hall showing the famous clocks, the one in the clock tower is conventional and the hands move clockwise. The lower clock in the gables has Hebrew figures and the hands move anti-clockwise as Hebrew script reads from right to left.

Detail of the Hebrew clock. I think that you have to view it in a mirror to see what the time is. Oh, of course, it's twenty past twelve. Obvious really. I cheated and looked at the other clock.

Towards the Charles Bridge

Off we tramped through the Old Town towards the Charles Bridge. Cobbled streets, tram lines and old apartment houses give this area a typical Mitteleuropa feel.

The pack leaders march past the back of Charles University on Jan Palach Square. I have now realised that our tour guide reminded me of that well known Hungarian actress, Katalin Vad.

Past the huge Rudolfinium concert hall. The Prague Autumn International Music Festival was in full swing when we were here but being boring old buggers too mean to go out at night we did not attend any events.

The Old Town bank of the Vltava is dominated by the view of Prague Castle on the far bank, it's always there and you get used to it but now and again you catch a glimpse and think "that's a fine view but where's the castle?" The enclosure is the castle and the fine building in the middle of it is St Vitus' cathedral.

And finally, the Charles Bridge. This medieval bridge connects the Old Town and the Lesser Town. It is lined with Baroque statues, there are towers standing at either end of the bridge which is constantly thronged with tourists, souvenir stalls and street musicians.

My group this way! The intrepid band approach the bridge across the Knights of the Cross Square, Church of the Holy Saviour in the background. It's very hard to remember the names of the places where you've been; Knights of the Cross Square in Czech is Krizovnicke Namesti . How do you even start to pronounce it? Czech is not as impossible as Polish but it's enough to render me tongue tied, "Krisov.. Krishov.. Krishovnicky..."

The diacritics help you make the sound correctly. The little "moustache" or háček placed over a letter softens and lengthens the sound; a 'Z' becomes a 'Zh' sound. It's no good, I can't say any of it.

Where's the bridge? Look hard, it's there somewhere behind all the tourists.

Trad Jazz band tootling away under one of the statues. The best known statue is down the other end of the bridge and marks where St Jan Nepomuky was chucked off the bridge having been tortured to death. You are supposed to touch it for good luck. Right!

Charles IV statue in front of the Pilsner Urquell advertising hoarding. This is so well done that we thought the building was real. You have to look twice.

Charles this and Charles that. Who was this Charles? That was Charles IV, King of Bohemia and Holy Roman Emperor, the most diplomatically skillful sovereign of his time. Prague emerged as the intellectual, economic and cultural centre of central Europe during his reign and many famous buildings were completed under his patronage; New Town, Prague Castle, much of Saint Vitus' cathedral. Several buildings bear his name, Charles University, Charles Bridge and Charles Square.

Amazingly, for a Czech hero, he did not come to a sticky end. He was neither drowned, stabbed, burned, poisoned or thrown from a tall building; he died of old age.

View of the Vltava weir from the bridge, that's the National Theatre on the left hand side with Children's Island on the right.

Lesser Town Towers on the far bank of the Vltava. Hils and Astrid are strolling towards us.

Gateway through to the Lesser Town.

Back at the Old Town end. It took me ages to get this photograph. I was determined to get a tram picture but the blessed things are not very frequent on this route and they don't stop, you have to catch them as they trundle across. Miss it and you have to wait another five minutes for the next one. This is my forth or fifth attempt. The street to the right of the church is Karlova or Charles Street, the route through to the Old Town Square.

View of the Charles Bridge Old Town Tower looking back along Karlova.

Old Town Square

We trooped through the narrow streets in the heart of the Old Town to reach the Old Town Square for an orgy of photograph taking. After the Charles Bridge this is the next most popular spot on the Tourist Trail.

Entering the square, the Gothic spires of the Týn Church dominate the square, the Astronomical Clock on the Old Town Hall is seen to the left with various wedding parties in front.

Looking back on our route; wedding parties and Old Town Hall entrance to the right hand side.

Looking across to the North side of the square from a coffee shop on the corner opposite the Old Town Hall, the Jan Hus monument is across the square over to the right.

The square is lined with cafes and watering holes packed with tourists.

Another view of the Church of our Lady before Týn, the Gothic spires and multiple steeples are completed with a fine selection of celestial granny flats.

View across the square from the South side, showing the Jan Hus monument with the Church of St. Nicholas behind.

A view of the square taken from Pařížská (see how I am trying to do my moustaches) on the North side showing the East side with the Kinsky Palace on the left and the Týn church.

Yet another view taken from Pařížská showing the Gothic and Romanesque houses which line the South side of the square. The white cars in the foreground are vintage Skodas and Pragas which you can hire and tour the city. No, we didn't. We walked.

The most sumptuously decorated house on the South side is the Storch house. The shop sells glassware and souvenirs like so many other shops in the area. I hope they don't pay a huge rent, it's a bit pointless going in, all the action is on the outside.

Detail of the Jan Hus monument. Jan Hus was a religious thinker, philosopher and reformer, the inspiration of the Hussite movement. He was stitched up by his enemies, convicted of heresy and burned at the stake but not here in the Old Town Square. Another Czech hero, another sticky end. Jan Hus was responsible for introducing diacritics into Czech orthography and our tongues have been tied ever since. Burning seems an extreme punishment for this, mere censure would have been sufficient.

Prague Astronomical Clock

The Orloj is a medieval astronomical clock mounted on the Old Town Hall. According to the legend, it was built by the master clockmaker, Hanus and the city fathers had him blinded so that he could not build another. Silly buggers, now how are you going to get it fixed?

There are three main components; the top dial is the astronomical clock, the lower dial is a calender. There is a presentation of statues of the Apostles at the doorways above the clock, with all twelve presented at noon.

As noon approaches, the square empties...

The crowds are drawn to the clock for the great show, not this one you twits, the one round the corner.

Excitement mounts...

After a few bell tinklings, some of the statues twitch a few times and then the assembled multitude respond to the call of the Golden chicken and await the 'Walk of the Apostles'. Avid clock-watchers. I could have offered to help them with a few tips, I've been clock-watching most of my life.

The figure of Death (the skeleton on the right of the clock) pulls the rope in his right hand, then the top two windows open and the 'Walk of the Apostles' starts off, led by St. Peter. Now, I don't want to sound cynical and I am sure that this really was a wow in the 15th century but at this stage I was wondering what all the fuss was about.

The clock shows the supposed orbits of the sun and the moon around the earth, which is fixed in the centre (this was the 15th century, alright?) The hand with the sun records three, different types of time. The other ring of medieval Arabic numerals is Old Bohemian time, where a day of 24 hours was measured from the setting of the sun. The inner ring of Roman numerals is time as we know it, Jim and the blue part of the dial represents the visible part of the sky to show Babylonian time where the period of daylight was divided into twelve hours the length of which would vary according to the season. The clock also shows the movement of the sun and moon through the signs of the zodiac. So, what time is it?

The four figures flanking the clock are set in motion at the hour, they represent (reading left to right in the photograph) Vanity, shown as a figure admiring himself in a mirror. Next, a Jew holding a bag of gold represents Greed or Usury. On the other side of the clock stands Death, a skeleton that strikes the time upon the hour. Finally, the infidel Turk, symbolising Lust, wears the Turban.

The calendar dial with medallions representing the months. Ignorance precludes my identifying the statues.

The rest of the time this corner of the square is just fair to middling busy with gawping tourists and weddings going full blast at the Town Hall.

Up the Old Town Hall
Defenestrations of Prague. A snip at 70 Crowns and undoubtedly the best ride in town.

You will not regret a climb to the top of the Old Town Hall tower - the view of the square and beyond is spectacular. that's what it says in the guide book. It's actually a lot easier if you take the lift.
Wander the streets leading off the square - the grand Pařížská, the charming Týnská that leads to Ungelt, the ever-busy Melantrichova that will take you to Wenceslas Square... Walk down Celetná to the Powder Tower, one of the historical entrances to the Old Town. Connected to the tower is the exquisite Municipal House, Prague's Art Nouveau gem.

Gothic spires of the Tyn Church. Celetana to the Powder Tower, historic entrance gateway.

Parizska. Tynska. Melantrichova. Jan Hus monument.

Wenceslas Square

This square is famous in Czech history. More a rectangular boulevard than a square, it marks the boundary between Prague's Old Town and New Town. Lined with shops, hotels, offices and restaurants. Demonstrations and gatherings.
National Museum. Museum Metro. Saint Wenceslas.
Every visitor to Prague, after visiting the castle and the Old Town, also visits Wenceslas Square. Very few people realise that in the old days, it was called Horse Market and that another statue of St Wenceslas was positioned further down the square.

My travel mates posing by the Soviet tank commemorating the events of the Prague Spring in 1968.

Fatboy and Hils posing by the tank.

View towards the Czech National Museum. My dear friends have now buggered off as they are already fed up waiting for my constantly taking photographs. Little do they realise that I've only just started.

The present statue of St Wenceslas at the top of Wenceslas Square. St Wenceslas is surrounded by four Czech saints: Agnes, Ludmila, Procopius and Adalbert, who is hidden behind the statue. his grandmother, Ludmila's castle, with surrounding estates, but she was murdered there by assassins hired by her daughter-in-law, Drahomira his mother, Drahomira Happy Days.

Wenceslas's life ended in 935, when he was murdered in front of the door to the church of Sts Cosmas and Damian.

King Henry the Fowler of Saxony from whom he received the relics of Saint Vitus

Wenceslas is known from the carol 'Good King Wenceslas' by John Mason Neale, for delivering wood to the needy, as shown in one of the paintings in Stara Boleslav.

John Mason Neale was born in London in 1818 and gained his university education in Cambridge. He became a lecturer there, but later studied for the priesthood. As a result of his radical stand at university, he was not able to find a job as a priest and thus became a warden in Sackville College in East Grinstead, England. It is here, where he wrote the famous carol, 'Good King Wenceslas', as well as many other carols and Christian songs. Sackville College still stands today, and during the summer months, visitors are invited to view the study of John Mason Neale. For a tune, Neale picked up a spring carol, originally sung with the Latin text ‘Tempus adest floridum’ or ‘Spring has unwrapped her flowers’. This original spring tune was first published in 1582 in a collection of Swedish church and school songs.

The words to the carol "Good King Wenceslas" were written by John Mason Neale and published in 1853, the music originates in Finland 300 years earlier. This Christmas carol is unusual as there is no reference in the lyrics to the nativity. Good King Wenceslas was the king of Bohemia in the 10th century. Good King Wenceslas was a Catholic and was martyred following his assassination by his brother Boleslaw and his supporters, his Saint's Day is September 28th, and he is the Patron Saint of the Czech Republic. St. Stephen's feast day was celebrated on 26th December which is why this song is sung as a Christmas carol.

Who was King Wenceslas anyway? Wenceslas was the Duke of Bohemia who was murdered in 929 AD by his wicked younger brother, Boleslav. As the song indicates, he was a good, honest, and strongly principled man. The song expresses his high moral character in describing King Wenceslas braving a fierce storm in order to help feed a poor neighbour. Wenceslas believed that his Christian faith needed to be put into action in practical ways. Wenceslas was brought up with a strong Christian faith by his grandmother St. Ludmila. Wenceslas’ own mother Drahomira, however, joined forces with an anti-Christian group that murdered Wenceslas’ grandmother, and seized power in Bohemia. Two years later in 922 AD, the evil Drahomira was deposed, and Good King Wenceslas became the ruler. He became Bohemia’s most famous martyr and patron saint. His picture appeared on Bohemian coins, and the Crown of Wenceslas became the symbol of Czech independence.

He was the son of Vratislav I, Duke of Bohemia from the Přemyslid dynasty. His father was raised in a Christian milieu through his father, Bořivoj, who was converted by Saint Cyril and Saint Methodius, the "apostles to the Slavs". His mother Drahomíra was the daughter of a pagan tribal chief of Havolans and was baptized at the time of her marriage. Wenceslaus himself is venerated as Saint Wenceslaus and is the main patron saint of the Czech state.

In 921, when Wenceslaus was thirteen, his father died and he was brought up by his grandmother, Saint Ludmila, who raised him as a Christian. A dispute between the fervently Christian regent and her daughter-in-law drove Ludmila to seek sanctuary at Tetín castle near Beroun. Drahomíra, who was trying to garner support from the nobility, was furious about losing influence on her son and arranged to have Ludmila strangled at Tetín on September 15, 921.

In 924 or 925 Wenceslaus assumed government for himself and had Drahomíra exiled. After gaining the throne at the age of eighteen, he defeated a rebellious duke of Kouřim named Radslav. He also founded a rotunda consecrated to St Vitus at Prague Castle in Prague, which exists as present-day St Vitus Cathedral.

Early in 929 the joint forces of Arnulf of Bavaria and Henry I the Fowler reached Prague in a sudden attack, which forced Wenceslaus to pledge allegiance to the latter.^[clarify] This resulted in resuming the payment of a traditional tribute which was first imposed in 806. One of the possible reasons for the attack was the formation of the anti-Saxon alliance between Bohemia, Polabian Slavs and Magyars.

In September of 935 (in older sources 929) a group of nobles allied with Wenceslaus's younger brother, Boleslaus (Boleslav I of Bohemia), in a plot to kill the prince. After inviting his brother to the feast of Saints Cosmas and Damian in Stará Boleslav, three of Boleslaus' companions--Tira, Čsta and Hněvsa--murdered him on his way to church. Boleslaus thus succeeded him as the Duke/Prince (kníže) of Bohemia.

According to Cosmas's Chronicle, one of Boleslav's sons was born on the day of Wenceslaus's death, and because of the ominous circumstance of his birth the infant was named Strachkvas, which means "a dreadful feast".

A statue of Saint Wenceslaus and other patrons of The Czech Republic (St Adalbert/Vojtěch of Prague, St Ludmila, St Prokop and St Agnes "Czech") is located at Wenceslaus square in Prague.

The historic Malentrich building, now Marks and Sparks. Alexander Dubcek and Vaclev Havel made their famous appearance on the balcony during the Velvet Revolution in 1989.

Death mask of Jan Palach on wall of Charles University in Jan Palach Square.

Pivnice U Pivrnce

Whilst out cruising with Astrid and Brian, our other new-found friends, we, quite by accident, discovered our favourite Prague restaurant/beer hole, the Pivrnce. No, I can not actually pronounce it either but most things are like this in Czech. Just nod and smile. Words that you can not even guess the meaning; like "Kavarna" means coffee shop and "Pivnice" means ale house.

Bohemian Specialities it says. We are all a bit Bohemian, Prague is the capital of Bohemia so what are we waiting for? Let's go in.

The cosy interior is covered with humorous and satirical cartoons.

Honestly, this is hilarious. It just loses something in the translation, so I won't. Alright?

Miss Hilary Edwards admires the cartoons but ponders the artist's obsession with body parts and vomiting. Being of a delicate disposition, she does not really understand it.

We feel that some of the cartoons are a little smutty. Not sure but it's just a feeling that we all got.

Ah well, enough gawping. Let's get down to the real business of life which is getting some lunch organised. Two large beers, please. We rather liked Pilsner Urquell and found it most refreshing.

And this is very typical of Czech nosh. Smoked pork with potato dumplings and sauerkraut. It was very nice, dumplings can be a little dry or chewy at times but these were nice and light and with the sauce and the sauerkraut went just nicely with the pork.

Brian and Astrid get tucked in to goulash and dumplings. Delicious.

Chucked out. Bloody tourists; drank their beer but could'nt finish their dumplings. Pathetic. We'll be back.

Cruising down the River

Vltava River

The good ship 'Valencia'

When the good ship 'Lužnice' hove to

This is Miroslav who played us some tunes on his accordion during the voyage, very nice too. They offered us a glass of Becherovka as we came on board, which I thought was rather a nice gesture until I tasted it. They were obviously trying to get rid of it. Becherovka is the stuff in the green bottle on the counter and it is a bitter-sweet, herbal brew tasting somewhere between parsley and Nitromors.

The rampaging hoards have at the buffet

Czech food can be a little repetitive. This is no place for the vegetarian.

Music, Maestro, please!
Prague Autumn International Music Festival.

Blind accordion player. I'll swear that's Miroslav off the boat in disguise. Maybe this is his other day job. Anyway he's got a nice doggie so I bunged him a couple of Crowns and took his picture.

Rudolfinum. Beethoven and Mozart. The Nazis were keen to remove the statue of the Jewish composer Felix Mendelssohn. However, none of the statues were named and they picked the one with the largest nose - which turned out to be that of Richard Wagner, the favorite composer of Hitler. These stories are beloved by Czechs.

Trams
I don't when the tram thing started but who cares? This place is a tram lovers delight.

So very Mittel Europe.

Tram bars in Wenceslas Square. I was not allowed to go in. Curses!

Out and About

Just a few bits and pieces that caught my eye. Fraid rather a lot of things caught my eye. Sorry, this really is the last bit on Prague.

Cakes as art. Drag me away, please.

Street corner philosophers. Czech geezers are usually pretty scruffy so sometimes it's hard to tell the regulars from the derelicts. But I think these are the genuine article. Czech women go about dressed up to the nines.

Franz Kafka causes angst and alienation amongst the masses.

Enjoying a good yarn. These are regulars rather than derelicts (I think).

Boing, Boing, Boing. Puppets down the market. World Festival of Puppets.

Yummy! Little selections of Fruits of the Forest down the market. Don't they look lovely? Yellow raspberries too.

Art Nouveau decoration on the side of an apartment house in Josefov.

Hello, dear. I've brought you your warmer knickers.

Sight-seeing tours in a vintage car are quite the thing to do in Prague. These are'nt Skodas, they're Pragas. I think the one on the right is a Praga Alpha. Like I knew, I'll be on 'Top Gear' next.

Everywhere you go, hoards of tourists all taking photographs. Snap, snap, snap-happy snap. I'm not a tourist, I'm just visiting.

Sculpture over the entrance of the Cafe Gaspar Kaspar.

"No, actually my end's heavier than yours". So many Prague balconies are equipped with the most fantastic classical atlantes. I would love a pair of these round our front door.

Anna Chromy. Mozart. Don Giovanni.

Toasted Piglet! I never partook of toasted piglet but I sampled some Hot Wine at another place. Fab-u-lowso! Mulled wine with a slice of lemon and a cinnamon stick on a chilly day is so nice that I wonder why I don't drink more of it. Probably because I have already glugged the whole bottle at room temperature.

Tramlines, cobbles and a crossing. Says it all.

Boat on the river. I do like a nice boat on the river.

Self portrait. Fatboy caught in the reflection off the fuel tank of an ancient Czech CZ motorbike.

"No, actually I would say that my side was heavier than yours."

Ancient and modern. A carriage and pair (with lovely ear-warmers) go past a group of vile tourists mounted on Segways. Are they crippled, can't they walk or are they Americans?

So many otherwise ordinary buildings are encrusted with curious and unusual carvings and mouldings. The problem is you keep walking around looking up at the buildings to spot the decorations and then walk into trees and lampposts or trip over the kerb. A small price to pay as I do this anyway.

This is where the credit crunch started. The Narodni Banka Vin borrowed millions on the promise that those bottles were full but any damn fool can see that they are empty. I had a bottle of Moravian red wine, now that's empty too. Nice vino though.

Entrance to the Don Giovanni Marionette Theatre on Karlova.

Such a Gay Bohemian Day.

A selection of hand crafted wooden toys from Moravia. I love these guys; though they do remind me of certain people who I have to work with.

And if you have any Czech Crowns left, buy a bottle of Slivovice at the airport. It comes in two flavours, a clear one which tastes like paint stripper and a golden one which tastes like paint stripper. It's an acquired taste and I regret to say that I am starting to acquire it, it's going down nicely.

Na Zdraví!

Last Train from Katowice

2008-10-05T22:31:00.028+01:00

Just as the weather was improving in Krakow we were off in the bus to Katowice to pick up the train to Prague. Yes, there is a perfectly good train station in Krakow and no, I do not know why we did not get the train from Krakow and change at Katowice.

It was certainly the last train I will ever get from Katowice. What a dump! The Polish countryside and the historic cities are beautiful but some of the modern towns are dire. Katowice station was disgusting, a vile concrete box from the communist era with all the allure of Bognor Bus Station c.1973 but with none of the charm.

A selection of kiosks on the station concourse, all shabby but all with the usual weird and wonderful selection of goods that are considered de rigeur by Polish kiosks. The chains have not reached Poland yet so there was not a Starbucks or a McDonalds to be seen.

The second hand book for the train kiosk. I quite fancied this one and wish that there was one at Paddington station instead of the boring old W.H.Smiths. I did have a browse but all the books were in Polish. Funny that. Love the way he's done the display; cardboard boxes are quite the thing in Katowice.

Katowice station is well known as an information disaster zone; the big board on the concourse lives in fantasy land and no one waits on the platforms as they are not announced until a minute or so before the train is due to arrive. Announced in Polish, of course. Meanwhile you wait in a dingy subterranean tunnel under the platforms and when your platform is called you frantically leg it and lug your bags up the stairs.

When the train arrived, we were all standing at the wrong end of the platform so there was another frantic struggle of the bags down to the other end and we all piled on. Progress was slow as the guard had only opened a single door and there he was berating us for being slow, tapping his watch and looking impatient. "Open another door, you muppet!!" we chorused. Don't mess with the Brits on holiday.

Never mind, the sun was out and it was a beautiful day and everything looked up when we were on the choo-choo. Katowice to Prague is around two hundred miles as the crow flies, high-speed rail has not yet reached Eastern Europe so we were facing a journey of about five hours. We had stocked up on all the usual suspects for a long train journey; tartan blankets, flasks of coffee, bread rolls, boiled eggs, tiddly-winks and books and magazines etc.

None of these were needed. What a wonderful train ride. A leisurely slap-up lunch in the dining car followed by a gentle coma in a comfy seat. I have never dined on a railway journey before but have, jealously, seen others do it. A great experience and one to be throughly recommended.

Round One; goulash soup and a rather large bottle of chilled Czech Budweiser. Lovely.

Round Two; chicken kebab with vegetables. The sun was rather strong and as Hils was flown with Budweiser I just could not get her to sit back and get her lunch out of the shadow for my photograph. Dear old thing, she does get so excited after a bottle or two. As in leaning forward and waving your hands about a lot excited.

Round Three; chocolate pancake and some coffee.

Crossing the border into the Czech Republic. We thought that crossing the border was going to be a bit of a palaver involving pulling out the passports etc. Not a bit of it. A couple of jobsworths with big bottoms came on board and ambled around for a bit then buggered off. One of them had a fierce dog who looked like he had lost his sausage.

The beautiful people in the elegant First Class dining car. The dining car was ruled over by a rather stout-looking young lady who can be seen in the doorway at the end. If you have ever wondered where the shot-putters go between Olympic games then now you know.

The chocolate pancakes with the whipped gunk were a universal success and greatly admired.

Our new found friends, Christine and Ian. How these poor old souls put up with my drunken drivel for hours on end is beyond me.

Fatboy and Hils pose for their portrait. Slightly flushed in the face, Fatboy? Bin at the bottle?

Prague station. Off we go on round two of our hols.

All change! We can't believe that five hours have passed so quickly. A thoroughly enjoyable train journey is disrupted by the awful reality of having to drag our luggage through the station onto the bus.

We are staying in another communist era relic, the Top Hotel and Conference Centre. Built on a hill to the south of central Prague, it's a huge place with hundreds of rooms, long corridors and massive public halls. Our rooms were very comfortable and about the size of a tennis court.

A hearty dinner and a few more drinks were all that we needed to ensure a good nights sleep and fortify ourselves for the morrow when we off on our walking tour of Prague.

Krakow

2008-10-02T06:23:00.049+01:00

A slightly-depleted Edwards contingent arrived in Poland on their annual clan outing. This year was Krakow and Prague, both new experiences for the younglings.

Apart from the vile weather, Poland made a favourable initial impression; Poles that look like Poles. The passport inspector looked like General Jaruselski and loads of the guys had the full Lech Walesa in the moustache department. Plus, all the immigration guys were armed to the teeth with some of them wearing camoflage and boots and holding wild dogs. I like that sort of thing, makes you know that you've arrived.

A Brush with the Stasi

I am sure that there must be better places to spend September than the outskirts of Krakow in the rain. But it's hard to think of one, look at the fabulous view from our hotel:

And here's our beautiful hotel. Have you ever cruised down the motorway and seen those horrible looking F1 or Travel Lodge hotels and wondered what unfortunate souls have to stay there?

Only moments later the security guards came over and asked me why I was taking photographs.
"I'm a bloody tourist, you twat. Taking photographs is what tourists do! We would'nt be tourists otherwise." Maybe I should'nt have turned on the coach drivers. "Who bleeding grassed me up?" does'nt go down too well in Polish. Roll on the revolution. Never mind, Polish beer is nice.

Zywiec, Tyskie and Lech.

Schindler's List

Roman Polanski, the Pianist
Kazimierz is the district that housed Kraków’s Jews for over 500 years. In the last decade it has been rediscovered, and its hollowed-out Jewish culture gradually reintroduced. Famous for its associations with Schindler and Spielberg, there’s more to the historic Jewish quarter than cemeteries and synagogues. Lying between shops selling buttons and spanners, you’ll find the heart of Krakow’s artsy character. Peeling façades and wooden shutters hide dozens of smoky cafes, each one effecting an air of pre-war timelessness. Alternative, edgy and packed with oddities this is an essential point of interest to any visitor.

The history of Kazimierz can be traced back to 1335 when it was officially founded as an island town by King Kazimierz the Great. Unlike Kraków, which was largely populated by Germans, Kazimierz was dominated by Poles. It was not until 1495 when Jews were expelled from Kraków that they started to arrive to Kazimierz in force. Awarded its Magdeburg Rights, which allowed markets to held in what is now Pl. Wolnica, Kazimierz prospered and it is recorded as being one of the most influential Polish towns during the middle ages. By the 17th century Jewish life was flourishing and numerous synagogues had been constructed. Alas, Kazimierz was about to run out of luck. In 1651 the area was hit by the plague, then four years later ransacked and ruined by the Swedish invaders. Famine, floods and anti-Jewish riots followed in quick succession, and it wasn’t long till a mass migration to Warsaw began, leaving the once vibrant Kazimerz a broken shell.

In 1796 Kraków came under Austrian control, and four years later Kazimierz was incorporated into Kraków. It was to signal the areas rebirth. The governing Austrians ordered Kraków’s Jews to resettle in Kazimierz, and the area was slowly redeveloped; timber houses were banned, streets were cobbled and walls that once ringed Kazimierz demolished. Kazimierz was finally going places; in 1857 the first gas lamps lit up the streets, a tram depot added in 1888 and in 1905 a power station. By 1910 the Jewish population stood at 32,000, a figure that was to nearly double during the inter-war years, and a rich cultural life arose around them. But this was to change with the outbreak of WWII, and the Nazis monstrous ideas of racial superiority. Approximately three to five thousand of Kraków’s Jews survived the horror of the Holocaust, a large proportion of them saved by Oskar Schindler. Although 5,000 Jews were registered as living in Kraków in 1950 any hopes of rekindling the past soon vanished. The anti-Zionist policies of the post-war communist authorities sparked waves of emigration to Israel, and by the 1970s signs of Jewish life had all but disappeared. The fall of communism in 1989 sparked new hope. Kazimierz by this time had become a bandit suburb, the sort of place you’d only visit with military backup. But investment began trickling in and the areas decline was reversed; 1988 saw the first Jewish Festival take place, and five years later the Judaica Foundation was opened. That was also the year Spielberg arrived to film Schindler’s List, a film that would put Kazimierz on the world map and irrevocably change its fortunes. Today a visit to Kazimierz ranks just as high on itineraries as a trip to Wawel, illustrating the historical importance and public regard the area has.

To get a feel for the area start your tour of Kazimerz at the top of Szeroka, coming from ulica Miodowa. Here you’ll find the restaurant Dawno Temu Na Kazimierzu (Long ago in Kazimierz). Disguised to look like a row of shop fronts the doorways come adorned with traders names splashed on them: Holzer, Weinberg, Nowak. It’s not hard to feel the ghosts of the past as you walk down the Austrian cobbles. Next door swat up on your literature by visiting Jarden, the areas first Jewish bookstore, or take a look at Szeroka 6 (now Klezmer Hois hotel and restaurant). The building formerly housed the Great Mikvah, a ritual bathhouse that gained notoriety in 1567 when the wooden floor collapsed and ten women drowned. Modern day Szeroka has a raft of restaurants to pick from, though you can’t do much better than visting Rubinstein at number 12. It’s named so for a reason. ‘Queen of Cosmetics’ Helena Rubinstein was born next door at number 14.

Hils asked our tour guide "Where is everyone?" She replied that they were all at work because it was a working day. But the place was deserted, in where we live in East London there are always people about in the streets on any day: youngsters, mothers with small children, old people. And in any Jewish area like Golders Green or Stamford Hill there is a Jewish community; Jewish shops, kosher butchers and frommies going about with hats and plaits. Ghost town, already.

Helena Rubinstein's childhood home. Our guide said that it was No.15 the pink one but the guide book said it was No.14. I don't care; it's No.15 in my book because I like the colour; Helena Rubinstein's old house should be a lipstick colour.

Wawel Royal Castle
Wawel Royal Castle and Cathedral. Coronation of Monarchs.

Dragon gutters and downpipes. Wawel Hill is he Dragon's Den, Smok Wawelski.

Muppet in the rain. Where's my umbrella?

Royal Arms with the chickens and the geezers on horseback.

We were equally bamboozled by a rather sad looking sheep that seemed to be everywhere. And then it dawned on us and we both chorused "It's the the Holy Lamb of Gawd." Pathetic really.

Chapels of dead Kings. King Sigismund's chapel gets the gold roof.

When I die I have often thought of how I would like to come back; lion, gazelle etc. I thought life as a greyhound would be nice, a life of languid leisure but no, it's a Polish nun. These girls are like rock stars.

Kanonicza Street.
Kraków's most picturesque street, and an essential part of any tourist itinerary. The cobbled alley is lined with superb examples of renaissance and baroque architecture, and many of the facades feature colourful murals and passageways leading to quiet courtyards. At number 9 is the former residence of 18th century patriot Hugo Kołlątaj. Number 19 is home of the Archidiocesan Museum, and at the very end, number 25, lies the former royal bathhouse nowadays better known as Dom Długosza. One popular tale surrounding the bathhouse claims that the future Queen Jadwiga, concerned about rumours that Lithuanians had gigantic genitals, sent one of her servants to spy on the manhood of Lithuanian Grand Duke Jagiełlo - her husband-to-be. Her fears appear to have been allayed and the couple later got married.
Royal Coronation route.

Beautiful Downtown Krakow

Our tour guide, assured us that Krakow was really beautiful and whilst it could get a little cold in winter, September was usually really nice. Meanwhile it was pissing down.

The sky was now entirely grey but, undeterred, we continued our walking tour down the Royal Way through to the Market Square to visit the Cloth Hall and listen to the trumpeters from St. Mary's church tower. What's a spot of rain?

It was now pelting down.

Kraków will long remember the 2002 visit of Pope John Paul II. The pope lived for 40 years in and around Kraków, with his most recent visit drawing a staggering crowd of 2.5 million fans to Błonie field. As an 18-year-old-student, he took spartan quarters at ul. Tyniecka 10, just across from the Grunwaldzki bridge. A plaque honours his darting presence

Church of Saints Peter and Paul.

Main Market Square. I remember Dan Cruikshank on telly getting extremely moist describing how beautiful it is . Well, Dan it was but it was also extremely raining.

St. Wojciech, predates the square.

Saint Mary's Basilica

Celestial Granny flats. Onion domes and knocked that theory on the head.

St Mary’s Church (known as Mariacka Bazylika) stands in the main square of Cracow and sports two splendid towers. The tallest of these is 81 metres high and the shortest is 69 metres high.

The Hejnalica bugle call tower (the tallest tower) has an interesting history. In medieval Europe, watchmen announced the coming of dawn to city inhabitants but also warned them of imminent danger. This tower was the watchtower that served Cracow.

Built in the 15th century, the tower’s upper part was given the form of an octagonal “tip”, creating what is now the highest workplace for buglers in Poland. It was from high that the bugle call is sounded every hour to the 4 corners of the world. With a melody of only 5 notes, the bugle call is broken off abruptly. This is said to commemorate an event in the 13th century, when one of the guards spotted the Tatar hoards approaching Cracow. His alarm call was abruptly ended a Tatar arrow which pierced his throat. Nowadays, the melody also breaks off quite unexpectedly, as if someone had suddenly interrupted the bugler’s playing.

Statue of Adam Mickiewicz

"Weather beautiful, having a lovely time. Wish you were here."

Town Hall Tower. Eros Bendato by Igor Mitoraji.

Wieliczka Salt Mine
We love a good jaunt and we were in for a treat in the afternoon. Off to the salt mines, it does not rain underground. Sadly, most of my photos taken underground were rather crap because my camera is useless for low light and I was snapping pictures on the sly because I was too mean to pay the 10 zloty photography permit.

Active mining was discontinued in 1996 due to low salt prices and mine flooding. The mine remains a major tourist attraction.

The mine reaches down to a depth of 327 meters and is over 300 km long. The Wieliczka salt mine features a 3.5-km. tour for visitors (less than 1% of the length of the mine's passages) that includes statues of historic and mythic figures.

The older works were sculpted by miners out of rock salt more recent figures have been fashioned by contemporary artists. Even the crystals of the chandeliers are made from rock salt that has been dissolved and reconstituted to achieve a clear, glass-like appearance.

Here's a view of our chaps with Krjstia, our local guide who had a very nice line in sarcastic humour. All the english-speaking Poles sounded like Meryl Streep in "Sophie's Choice".
hadesThe rock salt is naturally grey, in various s like granite, so that the carvings resemble carved unpolished granite rather than having the white or crystalline appearance that many visitors expect. (The carvings appear white in the photos below; the actual carved figures are not white.) Also featured is a large chamber with walls carved to resemble wooden chapels built by miners in earlier centuries; an underground lake; and exhibits on the history of salt mining.

Chapel of Saint Kinga.

Concentration Camps
Day one was salt mines, day two was concentration camps. Some holiday! Day three was flagellation and self-mutilation so we skipped the Auschwitz and Birkenau tour and visited beautiful Downtown Krakow again.

View of the memorial at Plaskow concentration camp.

Out and About in Krakow

The flags were out in Krakow the next day as it was merely drizzling. We decided on a bit of independent exploration of the Old Town as in shuffling around aimlessly for a bit, getting lost, finding a bar and having a nice sit down.

View up Florianska Street towards Saint Florian's Gate.

Ukrainian national instrument, a Bandura which is a harp-like hybrid plucked. 10 bass strings on the neck and 40 or more strings in total. Sounded Welsh to me.

Sukiennice.

Kraków’s Rynek is the natural ground zero of the city, and sitting in the middle of it all like a cake with a cherry on it is the Cloth Hall – known to the natives as the Sukiennice. It’s come a long way since the times when it was no more than a line of two walls, their purpose being to shelter traders carts at night. In the 14th century, as more and more stalls sprang up around it, King Casimir the Great allowed for it to take the form of a huge hall. This was to become the centre of trade for Kraków’s merchants, bakers, cloth makers and fishmongers, and technically one of the worlds first, if not the first, shopping malls. During the 16th century the hall underwent a renaissance facelift overseen by Jan Maria Padovano, and brilliantly deformed gargoyles were added to the façade. The late 19th century saw many of the outbuildings torn down and it was then that the neo-Gothic colonnades were added – the brainchild of Tomasz Pryliński, a student of Jan Matejko. Indeed, through history the Sukiennice has been associated with the greats of Polish art, though those wishing to view the Museum of 19th Century Art housed inside will be in for a disappointment – it’s closed until 2009. Make do instead by shopping for garish souvenirs and local craftwork inside the draughty halls, or by taking high tea, like Lenin and his mistress once did, in the Noworolski café.

Polish walk-in newsagents (e.g the UK's WHSmiths) are still quite rare. Most Poles who need a newspaper or magazine have to use the legendary Polish kiosk. However, as you can see from the pic...you can buy much more than just a paper or mag (e.g. chocolate, drinks, sanitary towels, condoms, batteries, washing-up liquid, bus/tram tickets, cigarettes...and much more!).

One thing that is strange...is why the hell did they make the hatch so low down!!! I get a bad back just by looking at it! lol!

The great Polish kiosk. Where would we be without them?

Barbakan.

Last night in Poland. A gathering of the Okocims down our end of the table.

Polish Vodka

I bought this very handsome cut crystal vodka drinking glass adorned with the White Eagle of Poland so I thought that I should try it for size with a bottle of Polish vodka. The glass cost me 25 zloty and the vodka was 26 zloty. The cold and the rain had brought on a bit of a sniffle anyway. Do me good......

What a little sweetie; it's not a chicken, it's a White Eagle. I thought that this glass would also come in quite handy for the tippling of sloe gin and other winter fancies.

Żubrówka Bison Grass Vodka is a 40% proof rye vodka. Flavoured with a tincture of the bison grass herb, the blade of grass in the bottle is only decorative. The name comes from the "Zubr", the Slavic word for the Wisent or European Bison who are particularly fond of the herb. Someone has to like it. It has a pale yellowish colour and unique taste and aroma often described as having vanilla, coconut and almond-like qualities.

Personally, I would say more Nitromors-like qualities but you can't taste things properly when your nose is a bit stuffed up. This vodka took my breath away and sent tingles running up and down my spine as my eyes watered. You can see how ill I was; look at the level of the bottle. I only drank it because I had to. Honest.

Polish Lavvies

I thought that Polish toilet signs were fascinating. Polish words usually look as if they have been produced by a random alphabet blender but "Toalety" is a nice exception. "I say old thing, I'm popping off to the toalety" Sounds rather sweet; I think I'll go right now just for the fun of it.

However, the really smart and sophisticated places (the ones we frequented) did'nt do Toalety. They did the triangle and the circle, preferably in precious metals. But which one is which? You have to know the secret.

First of all, you need to know that the triangle and the circle is the door to the lavvies. That filters out the great unwashed. Then when you are through that door you need to know which is Male and which Female. And I am not going to tell you even though I do know; I'm going to let you stand there hopping up and down on one leg as I had to. Nerrrrrr!

Despite the lousy weather and all my endless moaning, I rather enjoyed our brief stay in Poland and would love to come again. In the summer.

Sloe Gin 2008 Vintage

2008-09-21T09:26:00.011+01:00

Look at those lovely berries. Ripe and bursting with flavour, if only there were more of them.

Look at the colour of the infusion, the sloes have only been in the gin for about a week and already it looks like Ribena. I can't wait to taste this year's vintage, or should that be gintage.

The Benfleet Hoard
On the 24th October 2006 I arrived home with my briefcase and my jacket pockets bulging

The Benfleet hoard in all its glory; six sloes. Nice big, fat juicy ones too. Bit of a shame that two of them were squashed on the way home. Maybe next time we will find a few more. The Benfleet hoard is posed next to a glass of the 2006 vintage; I had to do something to fill out the picture.

It’s been slowly fermenting for the last four months, since we headed out into the meadow to pick sloe berries from the blackthorn trees. Each one is a small olive-like fruit with a dusty purple-black skin. Inside they are a delicate pink, and each one has a tiny stone in the middle.

To make sloe gin you need to gather enough to fill half of whichever bottle you want to make it in, and add the same weight of sugar. Pierce each of your sloe berries with a pin, going straight through the middle if you can manage to miss the stone, or coming in from each side if you can’t. This breaks open the skin and lets the gin and the berry juices mix.

You should pick your sloes in the autumn, so there will be none in the hedgerows now, but if you can wait until after the first frosts then the skins will already have been broken, and so piercing may not be necessary. When you’ve got all that in the bottle you pour in your gin, stopper it up and leave it to brew for at least three months. Give it a shake once a week or so to mix in all the sugar and don’t open it until it’s all fully dissolved into the liquid. We finally opened ours this weekend, and drank the first two glasses as undiluted shots. The colour is a fantastic deep red, and any sloes that come out with the liquid - which can be eaten if you want, although we chose not to - float on the top like cocktail olives.

A bonus of the fermenting process is that you can use a cheaper gin than you might otherwise like to drink. We used a supermarket’s own-brand spirit, and you’d never taste the difference between this and a more expensive label when infused with the sloes.

Prunus spinosa Blackthorn or Sloe is a species of Prunus native to Europe, western Asia, and locally in northwest Africa.^[1]^[2]

Plant in flower in early spring

It is a deciduous large shrub or small
tree growing to 5 m tall, with blackish bark and dense, stiff, spiny branches. The leaves are oval, 2–4.5 cm long and 1.2–2 cm broad, with a serrated margin. The flowersare 1.5 cm diameter, with five slightly creamy-white petals; they are produced shortly before the leaves in early spring, and are hermaphroditic and insect-pollinated. The fruit, called a "sloe" (slae, in the Scots language) is a drupe 10–12 mm diameter, black with a pale purple-blue waxy bloom, ripening in autumn in October or November when they are most ripe - usually after the first frosts. They are thin-fleshed, with a very strongly astringent flavour when fresh.^[1]

The fruit is similar to a small damson or plum, suitable for preserves, but rather tart and astringent for eating, unless deeply frozen, as is practiced in eastern Europe. In rural Britain so-called sloe gin is made from them, though this is not a true gin but an infusion of vodka, gin, or neutral spirits with the fruit to produce a liqueur.^[4]^[5] In a diary entry dated 22 August, 1938, George Orwell pasted a newspaper clipping of a Sloe Gin recipe.^[6] In Navarra, Spain, patxaran is a popular liqueur made with sloes. Sloes can also be made into jam and, if preserved invinegar, are similar in taste to Japanese umeboshi.

Plum and sloe output in 2005

It is extensively planted for hedging and for cover for game birds. The small thorns of the plant are relatively common causes of minor wounds in livestock, and these wounds often fester until the thorn is expelled or removed.

Straight blackthorn stems have traditionally been made into walking sticks and clubs (known in Ireland for example as a shillelagh).

The species is locally naturalised in New Zealand and eastern North America.^[2]

A "sloe-thorn worm" used as fishing bait is mentioned in the 15th century work, The Treatyse of Fishing with an Angle, by Juliana Berners. The expression "sloe-eyed" for a person with dark eyes comes from the fruit, and is first attested in

Although Hawthorn is better known and certainly the most commonly used shrub in hedgerow planting, the Blackthorn (Prunus spinosa) is also often seen but perhaps not recognised. Sometimes known as mother of the woods it is a beautiful and characteristic feature of the British landscape. The Blackthorn is widespread and common in woods and along field verges. It is quick to seed and grow, forming hedges and thickets. The shrub, which can grow to 4 metres, has blackish bark and branches spreading in all directions, each twiglet ending in a thorn. Botanists distinguish only one variety, although some Blackthorn shrubs show evidence of hybridisation with bullace or other wild plums. Being the first common shrub to flower each year Blackthorn is easy to identify, its flowers are a welcome first sign of spring. It flowers on bare branches in March, the usual snap of cold weather in early spring prevents the shrub's leaves from unfolding from the bud - the result is a magnificent ebony-ivory contrast. The five-petalled flowers are largely solitary but occasionally appear in pairs, their scented blossom provides an early source of nectar for insects just emerging from hibernation. Following the flowering period the 25 to 40 millimetre, finely toothed, oval leaves emerge smattering emerald foliage in its dense, strong branches. These spines form a thorough protection to the nests of our feathered friends on the farm. From around mid-September to late October the Blackthorn's magnificent globular fruit, the sloe, ripens. The fruit has at first an alluring blue to purple bloom not unlike that of the blueberry, however this eventually changes to near black. The sloe ranges in size from 10 to 15 millimetres and although it is often referred to as a berry, it is in fact a true drupe; it contains a hard stone which encases a soft seed.
This bluish-black fruit is visible to birds and some of the larger fruit-eating birds gather sloes, later depositing the stone in droppings assisting in the dipersal of the species. The Blackthorn belongs to the rose family, which includes Crab Apple, Hawthorn, Rowan, Whitebeam and Wild Cherry; each of them having white or pinkish blossom. Occasionally it flowers prolifically in a cold spell, known as a Blackthorn winter. Although tough, the wood from the Blackthorn is of insufficient girth to be esteemed for its timber, however it is said to be fo suitable size and abundance to be adapted for a farmer's walking stick. Over the centuries there have been many mentions of the sloe, Hans Christian Andersen makes reference to the 'sloe bush' in his fairy tale, "What One Can Invent", although strangely, Shakespeare makes no mention of the fruit despite much evidence that numerous varieties of plum were already in our English country gardens. In fact, archaeological findings from 9th & 10th century Viking foodstuffs (Yorkshire) would suggest that sloes were a part of our forefathers' diet. Legend also has it that a Blackthorn stick was the weapon of choice especially in Ireland. Here in England it is seen as a sign of good luck and on New Year's Day crowns made from the plant were baked in the oven and carried to the nearest cornfield. After being burnt in the field, the ashes were scattered over the ridges of the first sown wheat, to bring success to the crop.

Out and About

2008-08-26T11:41:00.004+01:00

Still hobbling with my woefully damaged knee (sympathy please!) I thought it best to try a bit of light exercise and so went walkies with my camera at lunchtime around the Clerkenwell Road, Leather Lane Market and Hatton Garden.

Leather Lane Market

Tucked between Greville Street and Clerkenwell Road, this market in the heart of the city is almost unknown to tourists. It's an outpost of real London where office workers go to graze at lunch time in the numerous sandwich bars. And lunch times is when to see this market at its most frenetically busy.

As well as having a good feed, you can also buy shoes, clothes, handbags, potted plants, jewellery, fruit and veg and electrical goods, all at extremely keen prices. There's been a market here for over 300 years.

If you think you can guess the origin of the street name, think again - it's got nothing to do with an ancient leather trade. In the 13th century the street was called Le Vrunelane, possibly the name of a local merchant. In the 14th century this became corrupted to Loverone Lane, subsequently to Liver and finally to the Leather we know today.

The Clock House

Everything to eat.

Through the lunchtime crowds.
Hatton Garden

Hatton Garden is a street and area near Holborn in London, England. It derives its name from the garden of the bishops of Ely, which was given to Sir Christopher Hatton by Elizabeth I in 1581, during a vacancy of the see.

The area around Hatton Garden has been the centre of London's jewellery trade since medieval times. The old City of London had certain streets, or quarters, dedicated to types of business, and the area around Hatton Garden became a centre for jewellers and jewellery.

Nearly 300 of the businesses in Hatton Garden are in the jewellery industry and over 55 shops represent the largest cluster of jewellery retailers in the UK.

Diamonds, rubies and pearls.

A certain lack of originality, diamond geezers.

Side streets and frommies going about their business.

Last Night at the Stow

2008-08-16T21:38:00.022+01:00

Last greyhound racing meet at Walthamstow Stadium on Saturday.

Supporters took a 15,000-strong petition against the closure to Walthamstow Town Hall, east London.

After 75 years of racing its owners sold the venue to housing developers.

New owner London and Quadrant Housing Trust said: "At the moment our intention is to continue with the development as planned."

The stadium was first opened in 1933 by William Chandler, who started out operating as an illegal street bookmaker.

In addition to its regular fans, it has hosted public figures such as Sir Winston Churchill and actors Lana Turner, Vinnie Jones and Brad Pitt.

But Mr Chandler's grandson Charles said operations had become "unsustainable".

the greyhounds raced around Walthamstow Stadium, in northeast London, for the final time on Saturday night, excitement and sadness went neck-and-neck in the packed stands. Long before the gates opened, hundreds of punters had queued outside the Art Deco frontage of the stadium, known as the Stow. Those gates were soon closed again, the Stow full to its 7,000 capacity. After the final race several hundred fans ran on to the track, taking snapshots and souvenirs. Somebody doing a Kenneth Wolstenholme impression said: “Some people are on the track, they think it's all over. It is now ....”

One of those “pig sick” about the closure was Barrie Clegg, chairman of the local greyhound owners' association. When he met his wife, Debbie, 24 years ago his chat-up line was to ask how close she lived to the dog track. These days they work hard to rehome retired greyhounds, and have been at the fore of SOS, Save Our Stow campaign. Mick Puzey, a trainer, said that the stress had kept him awake at nights and given him “terrible nosebleeds”. He at least got see to his dog, Perceptive Pacey, win the penultimate race. Celebrity dog track is running out of time

Gone to the Dogs: the last race at Walthamstow

The Stow was built in 1933 by William Chandler, a street-corner bookmaker, and had been owned by his family until its sale this year to property developers and a housing association for an undisclosed sum. The decision caused a lot of bad feeling, but the Chandlers point to losses of more than £500,000 for the year ended February 2008. Charles Chandler, the company chairman, said that he was deeply upset, but the business had become unsustainable.
That has done little to mollify those who see the Stow as a public institution. Before the racing began on Saturday, the SOS campaign marched on Walthamstow Town Hall, supported by Neil Gerrard, the local Labour MP and former greyhound-owner, and Ian Duncan Smith, the Conservative MP for nearby Chingford. The campaign hopes to persuade the new owners to sell or lease the track back to a consortium fronted by the trainer Ricky Holloway, but so far this has been ruled out.
The closure of Walthamstow leaves Britain with 29 registered greyhound tracks, and London with only one - Wimbledon. At the sport's postwar peak, 50 million a year packed into 77 tracks. But the shift to betting in shops and online has hit tracks hard. Despite £2.3 billion a year gambled on greyhounds, turnover at the Walthamstow tote fell from £16.85 million in 1989 to £8.76 million last year.
Before the sale was announced three months ago, attendance at the Stow had slumped to a couple of thousand on Saturday and a couple of hundred on a wet Tuesday. Yet in the run-up to its closure, the crowds streamed in, which suggests that there is still life in the old dogs. There were all sorts at the Stow on Saturday night, from dog men to cool cats, and the speakers complained of illegally parked Lamborghinis and Mercedes. The only cloth cap in evidence was worn by the musician Jools Holland.
The bookies joshed that they would pay winning punters “next Tuesday”. “Is grief too strong a word?”, somebody asked. Driving past the stadium after midnight, and seeing the neon lights already turned off, a mini-cab driver said: “If Gordon Brown can find billions to save the bankers at Northern Rock, why can't he save our dogs at the Stow?”.

Last Night at the Stow

I did most of my racing at Bedford, which is far more suitable for a lady. Not like all those nasty, rough boys who run at Walthamstow. That's not racing, that's wrestling.

I don't know much but I know what I like. I like sardines. Smelly ones, please.

Pah! Posing, Prima Dona Princess! Walthamstow's a proper dog's track; it's not for the namby-pamby pooches of this world.

Wild Fruit

2008-08-09T16:47:00.010+01:00

The other garden to look out for at this time of year is the wild one at the back of Walthamstow Town Hall. This is where we get our fruits and berries to make Fruits of the Forest yoghurt. No, I lied there. It's to make sloe gin and damson vodka and other winter tipples.

Bit of a rainy day today. The weather this summer has only been really good for slugs and snails who are doing ever so well, much to the disgust of most gardeners.

Festoons of elderberries; these are always prolific but unfortunately they are not well favoured for liquor making as they are considered too tart.

And blackberies doing very well as usual. These make a very nice but not spectacular drink with vodka. There is no shortage of blackberries; the bushes have loads of fruit.

The other fecund fruit is the wild damson or bullace which is coming on nicely; three weeks ago all these fruits were quite green. However, the crop is not as good as last year's when the branches were drooping with the weight of the fruit.

The damsons have a nice bluish bloom on their skins but they are not ready for picking yet. They should be ripe by early September.

The real stars of the show are buried deep in the hedgerow and you have to know where to look. Let's get our boots muddy as we search for the Blackthorn bush.

There they are! Get your head into the body of the bush and then look up and across. Keep looking and you will start to spot them; sloes. The golden nuggets of the hedgerow. These little berries make sloe gin, the finest fruit liquor of them all.

Sloes are barely half the size of damsons and nowhere near as prolific. They grow in clusters of three or four but under the leaves making them hard to spot. This is a hard-won harvest; you get precious few berries and the Blackthorn bush always seems to be surrounded by nettles. But the effort is worth it as sloe gin is magnificent. Not to be picked until the end of September.

Public enemy number one.

Why do we bother exhibit A. This is a glass of last year's Damson Gin; notice the light, tawny colour. A lovely fruit liquor for the cooler weather.

Why do we bother exhibit B. This is a glass of last year's Blackberry Vodka. Admire the deep, dark, rich colour of the infusion. If only you could taste or smell it, it fills the room. 'Ere, though! Some bugger's had a sip from it already! Is nothing sacred?

Salsa Verde

2008-08-07T18:45:00.016+01:00

I know all about green tomatoes; they're the ones that have not yet turned red. I'm not daft. "Not necessarily so" cries Gardener Hils, fresh from her greenhouse. "They might be Tomatillos". And with this she plonked down the first pickings of her tomatillo crop in triumph. Take that, sir! Now, I don't know tomatillos from tomahawks so I googled it. You can do this with your tomatillos and you can do that but what you must do is make Salsa Verde.

Here they are, fresh from the greenhouse. Tomatillos, also known as Green tomatoes, or Mexican tomatoes or Husk tomatoes. Ain't they lovely?

Odd looking coves; half way between a normal tomato and one of those Cape Gooseberry physalis things. Lovely shade of green but not all of them are green; depends on the variety. Thank you Gardener Hils, now sod off.

Here are the ingredients for Salsa Verde (green sauce for those deprived of a classical education) You need tomatillos and a variety of all the usual green suspects: green onions, green chilli peppers, limes and a nice bunch of coriander leaves or the one that you had left over from last week. Garlic because it's good for you and a red chilli because I like the colour; it goes nicely with the green (I only used the green ones)

Grill the tomatillos, peppers and garlic for about 5-6 minutes. This is supposed to bring out the flavours. Allow to cool.

Here's the roughly chopped grilled veg ready to go into the blitzing pot with all the other roughly chopped ingredients plus a bit of salt and white sugar.

Traditionalists would do the blitzing with a pestle and mortar but I am a yob, so I shoved in me hand blender and gave it some welly. Whizzzz, Whizzzzzz!

Salsa Verde in a sweet little dish.

And finally, salsa verde and tortilla chips, vicar? Oooh, don't mind if I do. Of course, we had to have the usual chilli farce. I only put one in as I did not want it to be too hot for little Miss Sensitive gob; I thought it only fair that she should have a taste considering that she grew the tomatillos and defended them from slug attacks.

"Hmmm, it's alright", I said "It's a bit mild though; could definately do with a bit more chilli". Hilsey dips her tortilla chip in the green stuff, places it delicately in her mouth and promptly goes bright red in the face and lets out an ear-piercing scream "Aaaarghhhh!!! It's like red-hot lava!!!!!!!!" As usual.

She's too sensitive, that girl. Should have had a lot more vindaloos as a nipper. Quite nice, the old salsa verde; needs a bit more chilli though.

How does your Garden Grow?

2008-08-03T02:16:00.013+01:00

Hils the Gardener was a little frisky the other day; flouncing around her garden like a young faun. I thought that she had been at the bottle but no, it was gardener's delight. We have come to that stage in the growing year where, after a good dose of sun and rain, all your precious plantlings are coming through and your heart is filled with joy as you contemplate a good crop; possibly a glut.

Luscious, plump and delicious sweet brown Turkey figs. If only there were more of them. I could eat figs until I look like one, hmmm come to think of it I already do.

Fields of sweet basil. Oh, alright. Trays of sweet basil; pray for some sun and get some real flavour into those leaves. We love basil.

Found as a young orphan in the valley near Orba this little Spanish shrub has taken to its new life in East London very nicely. But it still dreams of the orange groves of its native land. For you, little shrub, one day; a journey...

It is so happy here that it has even managed to flower this year. Sweet! Como estas, mi amigo? Muy bien gracias, Bebe!

Most of the tomatoes are still green but the golden yellows are starting to come on very nicely. Let's see the reds!

Raspberries on the raspberry bush. A little washed out you say? Never; these are also a yellow variety and very nice they are too. A milder flavour compared to their raspberry-coloured cousins.

But there's always some red in the garden; here they are, rosy cheeked and blushing. Apples on the apple tree.

Fushcia. My favourite flower; I love that colour. It always reminds me of Prince Murat who wore amaranth trousers. Pooftah!

Lovely looking plums on the plum tree. The only way to get nice plums is to grow your own (the law of plums)

Tomatillos in the greenhouse. These are a new crop never tried before and we await their ripening with interest. For those of a curious disposition, the tomatillo fruit is covered by a paper-like husk and as the fruit matures, it fills the husk which splits and turns brown. Tomatillos are also known as green tomatoes and are a key ingredient in South American green sauces.

Blackberries busily invading from next door's garden. We don't mind; come on in and get ripening. Blackberry liquor again this year?

The Wrecking Crew

2008-07-28T22:26:00.018+01:00

There is a disturbing trend amongst my friends and acquaintances to entice me into acts of hard, physical labour. Preferably in the hot weather. Why they do this I will never understand. There could be no worse candidate for your handy handyman than myself and it ought to be generally understood that warm weather is an excuse for loafing around and drinking cold beer, not for bashing things with hammers, drilling holes in bits of wood and generally being active and sweaty.

I was horrified when Lord Mac advised me that I had volunteered (when?) to help him clear and demolish a couple of sheds in his aunty's back garden and also help him clear out the house next door.

Here is General Lord Mac addressing his troops; "Now then chaps, all we have to do is knock these sheds down and dump 'em in the skip. Tally Ho!" What you can not see is that the entire workforce consists of the Fatboy who is now trying his best to hide behind a shrub. Personally, I would have engaged a couple of stalwart Eastern European labourers rather than Mr Useless of E17.

This is the skip. Notice how the skip is round the front of the house whereas the sheds are round the back. Yes, all the debris will have to be packed into wheelie bins and dragged round. But by whom?

We had cleared the contents of the first shed so all we had to do was set to and attack the structure with sweat, hammers and crowbar.

Here's the General setting a fine example with a few hearty blows of the wrecking hammer. Give it some welly! He later retired to further consider his plans, as Generals do.

Making a good start. There was so much stuff in those sheds. Notice the wheelie bin loaded up and ready to be dragged round to the skip. Where's the Fatboy? Nowhere to be seen.

Coming along nicely. The second shed is reduced to matchwood by the Fatboy as the General takes tea with his aunties.

All down and all done. Now, just clear it all up and bung it in the skip.

Oh dear, oh dearie me. We are clearly not very happy. The Fatboy has topped up his suntan today but destroyed himself in the process. Done his knee in, pulled a muscle in his back but mainly just in catatonic shock at having to do a day's physical work.

And the General's in little better shape. No major damage sustained due to deliberate skiving but could that be a nasty banging-too-hard-with-the-hammer injury to the wrist? Definate week off there. Not that he can have it as the General needs to plan the next phase of the campaign.

And that is clearing out the house which is full of curious and unusual artifacts, like clocks. Loads of clocks. Hundreds of clocks.

A small part of the great mantle clocks collection. Don't ask.

Camins al Vent

2008-07-15T11:04:00.015+01:00

I have often admired these curious chimney-like objects on the platform at the Valencia airport Metro station. But I do not know what they are or what they do, I just know that I like them.

I had to find out. There is a plaque on a nearby wall and they are called "Camins al Vent" by Enrique Sanisidro. I don't do Valencian but "Camins" must be the same word as the Spanish "Camino" which is well known and "Vent" has to be wind so I went to a Catalan-to-English translation website (I never found a Valencian one but reckoned that Catalan is close enough), typed it in and it came up with "Pathways of the Wind" which I think must be about right.

Enrique Sanisidro is a well established and respected Valencian artist, celebrated for his ceramic murals. I am sure that he will be pleased to learn that he can count me in as a new fan. And he is a local chap with his studio at Manises. Nice muriels, Enrique! See some of his other work here, www.enrique-sanisidro.com

But what do they do? What are they there for? There is a web link included on that plaque, www.elsfumeralsdemanises.com. Much good it is as all you get is the good old "No se encuentra la pagina" message. Bugger! Now, "elsfumeralsdemanises" is clearly "Els Fumerals de Manises". The airport is in the district of Manises and what on earth is a fumeral? Last I heard, it was a volcanic phenomenon; a hole in the ground which releases hot gases. So I googled it and yes, in Valencian, the word "fumeral" is used to refer to a tall chimney (with hot gases gushing forth!) Indeed, there is a learned society dedicated to the study of Els Fumerals. Just in case you were wondering, chimney in Catalan is "xemeneia".

So, there we are. They have got something to do with chimneys and they're done by this Valencian artist geezer. That's really all you need to know. "Mind the Doors!!"

Visit to Denia Castle

2008-07-05T13:40:00.039+01:00

The castle and its plantation of trees is the constant backdrop to Denia. So much so that you take it for granted and never get to visit, I have often asked myself just what was up there. But you had better step lively should you want to visit as these chances are rare. I was lucky and blagged a space with the Old Farts chapter of the Benimeli Brits in Spain Society who were visiting with their illustrious el profesor Antonio who would be our guide for the morning.

Meeting in the car park near Mercadona.

Through the tunnel. Used as a shelter during the civil war.

Never get a chance to take photographs, always being hurried along. Come along!

And gathering at the other end of the tunnel.

Las Devoradoras de Cultura. Nothing gets past this lot; "Going to the foot tapping in August?", " Nah, I'm parading me sardines." "Nice."

Follow me and we're off. Antonio takes a bold lead.

First view of the church; there will be several of these all taken from different vantage points.

When in doubt; follow the signs.

Windy streets

And so, up the steps and up the hill to the castle entrance. Here is a street sign encountered on the way.

Entrance to the castle.

View from the ramparts over the town.

Houses built against the castle walls.

Roofs of houses near the castle walls.

Detail of roof tiles.

View of the church.

View of the square from the castle walls.

View of the church.

Up top; overlooking the port.

El Profeesore and his missus up the top.

Antonio and Elena photographed overlooking the port.

Yet more posing for pictures; getting ready for the group shot. Look at the glamour girls in the sunglasses, you must admire their languid poise. SPJ (not wanting to be thought lacking in poise) gets her sunglasses on pronto.

View over the port. Balearia ferry on the Ibiza and Palma route.

Enough sightseeing; now for some history. Loved to have seen some old photographs of Denia, there is a bar in the Marques de Campo with some on the walls but this would be an ideal spot for a municipal collection. Roman amphorae on the walls.

Examining the exhibits at the Museu Arqueologic de la Ciutat de Denia. I could not help but notice that they have painted their exhibition hall the same colour as my downstairs lavatory at home. I wonder if they used Farrow & Ball's "Entrance Hall Pink" as I did or whether the department of works at the Ajuntament de Denia has a standard paint for daubing on museum walls.

Here´s the fat boy resplendent in his magnificent hibiscus print floral shorts. Notice the regal bearing and the thighs like Bavarian bullocks. Unusual formation to the front of the shorts, surely. Something amiss in the trouser department, Fatboy?

Silly old bugger; he's as happy as can be. Visiting old buildings and museums, flaffing around and taking photographs. Spain is full of them; you would think that he had had enough by now. You would be wrong; he can do this all day and every day and frequently does.

Town square

Church from bastion

Sign for the Porta de la Vila.

The actual Porta itself. Old door.

Meeting for drinks. Bald patch Jose Andres kindly donated by El professore, gawd bless 'im.

Graffitti at school.

Fly Until You Flag

2008-07-05T13:08:00.005+01:00

Hardly anyone has a good word to say for Ryanair. Except for me; I think it is a fantastic airline. No frills, no fuss. Dirt cheap and reliable. None of this daft pretenious nonsense that you get with other airlines.

A Day in the Life

2008-06-23T22:24:00.022+01:00

Some say I live a glamorous life in the fast lane, others claim that I hardly do anything at all apart from laze around and watch telly. The reality is somewhere in between; I have a drab and dreary existence where I try to get by doing as little as possible but enjoying it as much as I can. So, here's the breathless excitement of a typical working week.

Monday 23rd June. Leadenhall Street. EC3
Off to the City today. Leadenhall Street, the heart of the great British insurance industry and thronged with famous, iconic buildings.

Look at that monster; nearly every view in the city contains the gherkin.

Mies van der Rohe

Mind der Gap.

The old P&O building being demolished from the ground floor up. CU building and the NatWest Tower in the background.

The glass box lift.

Gherkin, Coffee Pot, Cheesegrater

Tuesday 24th June. Rosebery Avenue. EC1

Not quite so exciting today; down to King Cross, stroll up the Grey's Inn Road and cut through to Rosebery Avenue before the junction with Theobalds Road.

No.1 Grey's Inn Road

Wednesday-Thursday 25-26th June. Old Street. EC1
Stuck in the back of beyond for two days. Old Street has always been horrible and it's not getting any better. I am working in one of those huge office blocks at the Old Street/City Road junction with a perfect view of the Inmarsat building, looking like a colossal space craft.

Below is an aerial view of Starfleet Command dominating that miserable and ugly junction and its daft flying sculpture. I don't want to be negative but I do not like coming here very much . The people where I am working are always stroppy and constantly bitching and beefing. Poor sods; that is what working in Old Street does to you. I try not to talk to anyone.

What a dump!

The best part of Old Street is the way out.

Bunhill Fields Cemetary, definately the most exciting part of Old Street.

Surely, that's old Prince Charlie; get closer, maybe one of those bints looks like Camilla. Nah, too animated.

The Pavilion

Broadgate Circle

Liverpool St station concourse.

Friday 27th June. Borough High Street, SE1

South of the River today and down past London Bridge to Borough. Borough High Street is a vile traffic clogged dump through Southwark from London Bridge down to the Elephant & Castle but it is full of interesting and historic bits. This is the view north to London Bridge.

Unfortunately, the interesting and historic bits will have to wait for another day because the skies opened and the rain came down at lunchtime canceling the photographs session. Another time maybe.

Borough Market is well worth a visit, you can just about stop it through a gap in the traffic.

Sampling the cheese at Neal's Yard Dairy. Yummeee. There's always plenty of tasting and sampling going on here and their cheeses are out of this world. I had a little nibble when I went up the road and, noticing the shift had changed, had a little nibble on the way back. The height of cheek is to have a good old sampling and then not buy anything. The height of stupidity too; I could demolish some nice cheese right now.

After all, it was Friday and really needed to get home and get a bottle of chilled white wine down my throat.

Japanese Curry

2008-06-08T16:46:00.009+01:00

I was recently summoned to Holford Towers by His Serene Highness, Lord Michael of Mac to cook an emergency Japanese curry. Desperate straits, Oriental City closed down last week and already the poor old fellow is suffering withdrawal symptoms.

Like a pungent chocolate bar.

It's dead easy to do this curry but like any cooking it's dead easy to 888 it up so just take your time and make sure that you do everything in the right order and it will turn out fine.

Like any stew, the important thing is to have all the ingredients cooked as you want them; there is nothing worse than a meat and vegetable where the meat is still tough and needs another half an hour of cooking but the vegetables are already overdone. So it is all about which cut of meat you are using. I like pork rib steaks, they have a good flavour and are fairly cheap to buy but they do need a good 45-50 minutes stewing to make them tender. Many cooks favour belly pork for a curry; it is a cheap and delicious cut but requires even longer cooking, allow about an hours stewing.

Carrots and Potatoes.

Ingredients and Preparation
5 or 6 Pork rib steaks
500g Carrots
500g Potatoes
2 Large Onions
Box of Japanese curry paste
Water (as per the packet instructions)

Trim and cut the meat into bite-sized pieces. Cut the carrots and potatoes into 1cm chunks. Peel and slice the onions.

The Cooking

Heat some oil in a large pan and fry the onions for a few minutes, then add the meat. Fry the meat and onion mixture for around 5 minutes on a high heat, keep moving the ingredients around in the pot. Do not worry if the meat sticks, it will all be taken care of in the next step.

Add the water to the pan. Either measure it out according to the packet instructions or just add enough to well cover the meat. Cover the pot with its lid and let the water come to the boil. As we are using raw meat you will see that some scum rises to the surface because scum always rises. We are going to skim off the bulk of the scum.

Take a large, preferably perforated, spoon and skim your scum. We don't like scum, nasty stuff. Replace the pot lid, turn the gas down to a simmer and cook for 20 minutes.

After 20 minutes cooking, it's lid off, turn up the heat and get your veggies ready. Add the prepared carrots.

And now in with the prepared potatoes. Bring the pot back to a boil and then turn the heat down to a simmer, replace the lid and cook for a further 15 minutes.

As the stew cooks you can either think beautiful thoughts and open a beer or you can start doing your rice because we are quite near touchdown on planet curry. But don't worry too much about timings, the stew will keep warm and ready in the pot with the lid on waiting for you to do the rice or you can reheat it if needs be. Should you do the rice too soon, just keep it in the warm cooking pot with the lid on and a sheet of paper kitchen towel laid loosely on top of the rice.

We are ready to finish the curry. Firstly, test that the meat and vegetables are cooked to your taste, the pork should be tender and the veg should be cooked soft but not falling apart. Then, add the cubes of curry paste, half a packet is about right for this one. Take a big spoon and start stirring the stew to dissolve the curry paste, the stew should start thickening quite dramatically.

Keep the heat low and keep stirring for a good 5 minutes. You really need to dissolve those curry cubes and allow all the flour that they contain to cook through. Turn off the heat, cover the pot and let the stew rest for around 10 minutes. Finish preparing the rice and anything else that you are having.

It's curry time! Dish it up on a plate and enjoy! Itadakimasu!

The curry-in-a-box flavor that Yagura reminds you of is, actually, the quintessential curry flavor. Very few home cooks in Japan, and even perhaps relatively few restaurant cooks, have EVER made curry from scratch. The taste of curry and the process of making it have been become standardized. Consequently, there's very little bad curry and, perhaps, very little exquisite curry either. Homemade Japanese curry will not, like homemade Thai or Indian curries, likely yield exciting fresh results. Japanese curry is simple, delicious comfort food.

In fact, just yesterday, after making curry at home by mixing two brands of boxed curry - one spicy, one sweet, - I commented that the curry reminded me of children's food (by no means an insult). Not merely the taste and texture, but the sheer delight of eating it with all its attendant associations. My Japanese friend ventured to say that 90% of all Japanese children, if asked, would probably say that curry is their favorite food.

I guess we have different takes on curry, but let's say it's a matter of perspective. Certainly, Japanese curry has become the most standard of comfort foods in the past couple generations, and that's great. I'm sure the big curry manufacturers couldn't be happier to have created a standardized product that 95% of the population will use instead of making from scratch. But the way I see it, Japanese curry IS a complex food that has been made needlessly simple. Its development did span half the world to reach Japan, via Europe (using mostly French cooking techniques) from the original concept of Indian curry. But now there's a heavy association of it being children's food.

You’d think the Japanese would have come by their curry via India. Nosiree, Bob-san. Our mates the Brits took it from India and sailed with it to Japan in the late nineteenth century. In an early show of the ingenuity they would later gain renown for, the Japanese soon developed make-at-home versions of the sauce. When cooked, these curry mixes look more like medium- to dark-brown gravy and are a touch thicker and sweeter than their Indian cousins. Common brands found in the U.S. include S&B and House.

Japanese curry sauce is served over rice, no surprise, and in this configuration is known as karei raisu,</em> or “curry rice”—as you may have guessed. As you may not have guessed, it is eaten with a spoon, not chopsticks.

Start with a box of curry sauce mix (left). S&B is the most widely sold brand and is available in mild, medium, and hot; it can often be found in the "ethnic" aisle of large supermarkets as well as at Asian grocers. House Foods has several styles—Vermont, Java, Kokumaro, among them—also available in mild, medium, and hot varieties. For a more authentic version, I guess you’d have to follow the instructions on the box. I’m going to detail how my Midwestern-Japanese fusion version is made.
Not only is Japanese-style curry delicious and easy to make, it’s perfect for feeding a lot of people—or for getting several meals out of one cooking session; it can be easily frozen in individual portions for reheating later. To make it, you need carrots, potatoes, and onions.

If you disagree, it is only because you have not eaten it. You might be intimately familiar with the Indian or Thai varieties, in all their festive colors and mouth-stabbing spiciness. You might have, in a fit of curiosity, actually skipped the chicken teriyaki and tried a plate of curry in a Japanese restaurant. Perhaps it was even topped with the traditional breaded pork.

But unless you've eaten curry in one of Japan's curry-only lunch joints, one of which is never more than five minutes from anywhere else in the country, you have never tasted of this most holy of foodstuffs. This is not travel snobbery. It's just that none of the Japanese curry chains have opened locations in the continental United States.

Until now. Last May, Go Go Curry opened its first U.S. branch, a tiny shop in midtown Manhattan, right around the corner from Times Square. Since then, they've been serving up the real deal -- honest-to-God Japanese curry, served the same way Tokyo's salarymen scarf it up on their half-hour lunch breaks. It is head and shoulders above any Japanese curry I've ever had in America.

And as someone with a crippling addiction, I would know.

I love Japan's curry in the same way that a heroin addict loves shooting up. The only significant difference between the two is that eventually, if you stop doing heroin long enough, you are no longer addicted to it. Japanese curry addiction does not leave you even when you move back home. You just spend your days wishing you could eat it again, saving your money so you can fly back to Tokyo and eat more.

You never forget that first amazing high. For me it was in the school cafeterias at Kanazawa University, where I discovered that what most of the Japanese students were lining up for every day was not teriyaki or sushi rolls but curry: A brown glop that looked for all the world like severely burnt chowder, ladled obscenely over a giant plate of rice. As a final fuck-you to the arteries, it was often topped with whatever fried thing the cafeteria had whipped up that day: pork katsu, usually, but sometimes chicken. Sometimes a chicken-fried steak, to the extent that Japanese lunch ladies were capable of making one.

I don't know who first convinced me to try it, but: bliss! This was absolutely nothing like Indian curry. It was a little spicy, sure, but mostly it was just sweet and savory -- a rich, creamy flavor full of ingredients that were mostly unknown to me but almost certainly included crack cocaine. It blended perfectly with the rest of the ingredients: The pure flavor of the sticky rice, the crunchy breading and devil-may-care fat of the pork.

It was also, as near as I could figure, the only Japanese food meant to be shoveled into the mouth with a spoon.

Curry is is one of the most popular dishes in Japan. It is commonly served in three main forms: curry rice, karē /en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Udon" title="Udon">udon (thick <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noodles" class="mw-redirect" title="Noodles">noodles) and karē-pan (href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bread" title="Bread">bread). It is usually thicker, sweeter and milder than its Indian equivalent.

A wide variety of vegetables and meats are used to make Japanese curry. The basic vegetables are onions, carrots, and potatoes. Sometimes grated apples or honey are added for additional sweetness. For the meat, pork, beef and chicken are the most popular, in order of decreasing popularity. Katsu-karē is a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tonkatsu" title="Tonkatsu">breaded deep-fried pork cutlet with curry sauce.

Curry was introduced to Japan during the Meiji era (1869 - 1913), at a time when India was under the administration of the British. The dish became popular and available for purchase in supermarkets and restaurants in the late nineteen sixties.

One reason why Japanese curry is so popular in Japan is that it is very easy to make compared to many other Japanese dishes. It can be made from a ready-made curry sauce mix, or roux (カレールー), in under an hour. Mixes come in the form of a block and can be found in the West in local supermarkets which have a Japanese section, or in Japanese or Oriental food stores. The most common brand sold in the United States is Golden Curry, made by S&B Foods Inc. However there is a great variety of other brands of curry sauce available in Japan.

Aside from sauce mix blocks, Japanese curry is also sold in powder form, which can be turned into curry gravy by adding water.

Japanese curry rice is made from rice, curry sauce, vegetables and meat. The process of making the curry starts with sautéeing chopped vegetables and meat in oil, margarine, or butter. Once the meat has been browned and the onions softened, water is added and brought to a boil. The ingredients are then simmered under low heat for about 20 minutes (as per instructions on roux boxes), or much longer if more tender meat is desired or if stewing meat is being used (however, cooking time can be quartered through the use of a pressure cooker). Finally, the curry mix is added, stirring frequently for about 5 minutes to dissolve. The curry is then ready to be served.

Searching for Dolf Riks

2008-05-30T17:02:00.004+01:00

North Pattaya

After many years running his wonderful restaurant and painting his terrific pictures Dolf Riks passed on in 2004 but I was keen to discover whether anyone was carrying on the good work.

I still have my Dolf Riks painting hanging in my boudoir after all these years. The old fella passed on a few years ago but I was keen to see what had happened to out old haunts. Where was Dolf Riks? Where is anything in North Pattaya? Rampant development and the third wave of swish hotels and air conditioned shopping malls have yet to arrive but they are advancing down Second Road.

Sweating like a tap, bought some flip-flops to limp home.

I actually managed to go out in the afternoon! I went over to the Handicraft Market on Second Rd, as I got there the most impressive rain storm hit Pattaya. Great to watch from under cover, but didn’t provide any respite from the heat. Actually the effect was more like throwing water on the coals of a sauna. Have I mentioned the heat? The temperature hits you like a hammer and during the day any normal activity is way more tiring than you would ever believe because of it. This was another reason for the nocturnal approach.

and rampant over-development has long since destroyed any natural charms it once had, but its plethora of hotels and guest houses and convenient location with quick and easy access from the capital make it a popular weekend getaway.

A view overlooking the garden, with the Ocean Tower on the left and the Garden Wing on the right
Tiffany's Show [80] on Second Road near signless Soi Srinakhom (one soi north of Soi 1) has performances at 19:00, 20:30 and 22:00 (plus 17:30 high season) and in May hosts the annual Miss Tiffany's Universe Pageant [81] beauty queen competition, for contestants born as men. If you're got testosterone left over, visit the Shooting Range in the basement!

Orchid Lodge Hotel

The other survivor from twenty years ago was the dear old Orchid Lodge Hotel. Just. It's not the comfy, shambling old place surrounded by gardens that it used to be but has joined the swish hotel category and the elephant has long since retired.

It is now merely the Garden Wing of the Amari Orchid Resort.

Diarmuid Gavin

The hotel that was a resort has become yet another soulless hotel and now it is called a resort. Why bother. What a throughly disappointing journey. Let this be a lesson to me; never go back. Nostalgia is a comfort blanket, no more. Learn from yesterday, live for today and look forward to tomorrow. Never give up; never surrender.

Pattaya

2008-05-30T10:21:00.015+01:00

Beach Road
Beautiful downtown Pattaya is populated by buzz bikes, baht buses and tattooed beer monsters. Ain't it luverly; Southend on the Gulf of Siam.

The city has boomed since my last visit in 1989, then the North Pattaya was still tracks and gardens and 2nd Road was mostly a track. Thai life and low life.

Soi 8
Of course, only the best for the fat blokes, we stayed on the fashionable Soi 8.

View from the 11th floor of the Sunshine Apartments; you really would'nt want to see a view of the Sunshine.

The Pig and Whistle

OLD school ties, wooden tennis rackets, and photos of the 1939 West Bromwich Albion team – the Pig and Whistle knows a bit about atmosphere.

The P&W could have been picked up from a secluded rural spot in England and dropped into Soi 7, it’s that convincing. The entire place is decked out with authentic memories from the past, from the black –and-white pictures of 1930s boxer Tommy Farr to the brass candlesticks.

The main area is made up of seating with a large bar, replete with draught beer. Farther into the bar there are more secluded booths, smartly fitted out with mock-marble tops and wooden panelling all around.

Our first ten minutes were spent craning our necks around to try and take it in. Once we’d finished gawping, a waitress speaking pretty good English took our orders.

Food here is just as traditional as the wicker wine holder which sat on a shelf above us. There are lamb chops, beef stew, fish and chips, or if you want something continental, go for spag bol or chicken kiev. In addition the English Breakfast sounds gargantuan, and you can add extras such as black pudding or toast for a few baht more.

pig and whistle restaurant in pattaya thailand - restaurant reviews I ordered the roast pork (195 baht) while my partner chose the roast chicken (195 baht).

Despite being busy, the food arrived within 10 minutes. Layers of gravy-laced pork filled my dish, while carrots and cabbage struggled for room on the plate. Roast potatoes, stuffing, and a perfect Yorkshire pudding sat next to the pork. The Yorkshire pudding was light and airy, while the pork was almost fat-free and the accompanying apple sauce went well.

The roast chicken was huge and came with chips (not fries) and more veg.

It took some effort, but the whole lot soon disappeared. Which left us with dessert. Ordinarily I’d bow out gracefully and admit that I’m ‘ihm’ but the apple pie and custard (100 baht) did look good.

It turned out to be even better than it looked. A bowl appeared full to the brim with hot custard, and a home-made pie sat in the middle, barely breaking the surface.

The Pig and Whistle is certainly one of Central Pattaya’s – if not the city’s – best choices for traditional Western food. And its attention to detail means ex-pats regularly fill the place for the one ingredient so often missing – nostalgia.

Zen Dining
It was'nt all beer and chip butties.

Walking Street

The famous Pattaya "Strip" in South Pattaya is known as Walking Street.

More cosy than sleazy.

Great to see Abbe's Bar still in business, this one was a great favourite back in 1989. I was standing at the bar here and nearly got blown to bits by some nutter's firecracker on New Year's eve.

Heineken beer delivery.

Nong Nooch
Nong Nooch Tropical Garden, 163 Sukhumvit Road (15 minutes east of town centre); tel. +66-38429321 [20]. Beautiful gardens with waterfalls, elephant shows, "Cultural Extravaganza" performances 4 times a day, restaurants etc. - enough to fill an entire day. In Feb 2007 they had major construction ongoing. We did the whole place in 90 minutes. Disappointing. Yet another place in Pattaya that thinks it is acceptable to charge foreigners more than Thais .200 baht for locals, 400 baht for foreigners. This practice is illegal in Thailand but strangely nobody in authority is prepared to do something about it.

Easy Rider, Thai style.

Pattaya Highway Patrol

Get yer head down!

Seaside Special.

A Happy Gardener.

Happy Campers.

Bangkok

2008-05-30T10:19:00.001+01:00

Wonderful weather in Bangkok; sauna, hot shower then furnace.

I just want to cross the road!

Somboon Seafood

You like spicy? It's a bloody condiment not a bloody ingredient! Too late; splash it all over. Lovely.

The Ancient City

Muang Boran.

Traditional Thai building

Traditional Thai garage.
It's a Sawaadee from me and you bloody fat tourists can go back to your air-conditioned luxuareee.