After Inspiral Carpets/Happy Mondays and The Stone Roses it's a continuation of the theme as a couple of weekends ago Jan and I vanish to the seaside for the Sound Island Festivall (in a park, not on an island), featuring The Farm, Inspiral Carpets (again!), Cast, Echo and the Bunnymen and James

In a sort of I really like trains move Jan arrived down in London from Newcastle by train that morning. After a brief respite we hopped on a tube to Victoria to catch another train towards Margate (which seems to take far too long a time, given the distance). We had to move at one point due to being in the wrong half of the splitting train, but other than that could just sit and watch the pictures go by. The walk from Margate station round to the hotel seemed longer the first time we made it than it did later on, though maybe because we stopped for refreshments.

Ah the hotel; it again raises the question how we always seem to manage to always find the weirdness. On arrival we were greeted by the old ladies who seemed more concerned with their impending cup of tea than arriving guests. Once they paid attention they directed us to the closet of a lift---no kidding; there was barely room for both Jan and I to squeeze into the tiny space, with a single door, and the walls between floors on the way up touchable (this was the only time we took the lift, not surprisingly---though that was partly because we couldn't actually find it again!) The room was OK, but only OK. Just a shame about the stained ceiling and the window which would barely open (not to mention the extremely noisy toilet drainage). Never mind, we weren't planning on spending much time in it anyway.

So out we went. As we left one of the old ladies enquired if we were going out, and gave us directions. She declared she wouldn't send us one way as it was too dangerous! We seemed safe enough as we found the quiet Rose In June though. The few local patrons were watching some sort of talent show on TV (er, that would be the Olympic opening ceremony Jan). It was a fine night to sit outside, at least until one of the locals began to inform us how deprived the area is! And then we heard what may have been hell hounds howling and moved on.

The rest of the night was quiet and uneventful until we found our way back to the so delightful hotel and bed.

Saturday

With a long day ahead of us we headed down towards breakfast. We only made it as far as reception before the strangeness continued. A rather strange woman (staff, a guest, just passing through? We never did estabish) basically sold Jan a second hand skirt and blouse for a pound (sometimes its just easier to go with these things). We were shown through to the frankly huge dining room, with only us in it. There our delightful proprieter conveyed that she believed the earlier clothing vendor to "be a bit of an alcoholic. But then, everyone has there problems." We were then further amused by listening to her phone conversation where she complained of being rushed off her feet, especially as "he [presumably the aged man we had seen about] had gone to show a woman the bus stop" (is that a euphemism?!) To be fair breakfast, when it eventually arrived, was fine even if I've never been made to choose between tomato or beans before.

With breakfast eaten we decided it was probably best to get away from the strangeness around us so briskly headed out to sample the Margate's delights. It's a typical seaside town really (though obviously not as strange as Great Yarmouth. There was the beach resplendent in the sunshine, with the voice of god booming from speakers along the seafront, warning against barbecues too early. There was also the clock, which despite the appearance of having stopped was still chiming. We did take in some culture at the Turner Contemporary where we could look at Rodin's The Kiss and wonder at Tracey Emin.

That took us towards the afternoon so after a brief as possible stop of at the hotel we caught the train the few minutes to Birchington-on-Sea. On arriving we couldn't see the sea and so skipped the Seaview pub on the basis it was blatantly lying. The pub we did end up in, The Powell Arms, promptly pretty much ran out of beer. They did have bottles though and I thought the barman was going to become my friend for life when I offered up change rather than notes to pay---obviously they hadn't anticipated the beer swilling hoards heading down the road to Quex Park.

At least the next pub had some beer, and a guru type to give us a number for our lottery attempt (not that we won anything). Couldn't hang around too long, so onwards towards the park. When nearly there we found some sort of farm shop, taking advantage with beer and food outside. They also had a sheep and ram out the back to keep Jan happy.

Sound Island

Once we finally reached Quex Park there was a wish that we had taken more advantage of the tranquil pubs. The queue for beers was frankly huge. Whoever organised this had manage to get together a load of food stalls selling boring burgers that no one was particularly interested in and not nearly enough bar space. It became apparent that we'd missed Space as The Farm appeared as we stood in the queue. The organisation came under more suspicion as it also became apparent that the sound was all over the place, with vocal pick up particularly dropping down and up. The Farm struggled through it though, entertaining us as we edged on. I fetched burgers almost just for something to do. We still weren't much closer when the Inspirals appeared though, the sound problems continuing (the sound pretty much cut out at one point---not good, and obviously not the band's fault). They still confuse me.

Finally we reached the bar, and stocked up on about as much beer as we could carry. That meant we did get to see Cast properly (not Jan's favourite band but I like them). They were good. By the time Echo and the Bunnymen came on we were in yet another beer queue. At least we were near the front so quickly could go and enjoy the music properly. They warmed us up nicely for the what, even with such renowned bands around, was the main event.

The sound problems seemed to still be in evidence when James took the stage, but they're sort of used to that. They checked and double checked then started acoustically, before blowing us away. I danced, Jan sat and enjoyed (the music, not the dancing). Darkness fell, the stage lit up. We went back towards trains happy.

On arriving back at the hotel the door release turned out to be the old man coming to open it by hand. Then bed.

Sunday

After dancing around I foolishly decided to skip breakfast for more rest. That proved to be a mistake, as once we'd escaped the hotel I became weak to the point of needing to find some breakfast! First though we tried to find a newsagents in Margate, which turned out to be ridiculously difficult. Eventually we did though, so I could head to the Mechanical Elephant to revive.

There was just time for a bit more wander around Margate---getting caught in a mad downpour of rain as we did. We took refuge in a little seafront bar, where we spotted an explorer (hat, 'tash and pipe. He could down a pint too). Oh, and the clock had started telling the right time again. Then for the train, which confused us and itself because it has to join up again but really does go straight through to Victoria.

All quite tiring, especially for Jan who then got another train back north, but worth it!

Anyway, there was food and drink and some strange songs (part of the English/Danish cross over theme). Despite this being after the honeymoon the two were obviously still very happy and in love. Long may it continue!

Congratulations again!

And now for a tale of a bit of a failure at finding something online. I was half convinced I'd mentioned that searching the internet on this has failed me before, but if I did I don't know where (In general it's a sign one is struggling when the first hit for a search is your own page---and I wonder how long until this one joins it). Anyway, basic premise and frustration: It seems impossible to find photos of my old school (I should point out that by old school I also mean the old buildings, from before they built the "new" buildings and knocked the old down to form the current playing fields).

iSee Gateshead also has this 1901 photo, which has a glimpse of the school on the left (the church on the right is still there, though the church hall is gone). I did also turn up this 1958 photo from from another source, with a little bit of very red looking exterior. But it's back to iSee Gateshead for the final and probably best photo, from 1966 (mislabelled Brighton Road School, see this blog post for some discussion of that). From memory that's the junior school facing Brighton Road.

And that's about it! My quest for any more has failed. I don't even seem to have any myself (a couple inside but nothing outside).

So what is this, a gig review site? Well, there may be a bit of a review coming up, involving a Friday stood in a field, following quickly on from the rather delayed last one. There's more than just a review though---as Jan and I undertook something more like a tour of the north-west's two premier cities

It began, as so many things do, on a Thursday. Trains are mainly boring experiences and this one was little different. It did however take us on a journey from Newcastle to Manchester. It hasn't changed much since last we were there. So much so that it wasn't difficult for us to find the way down from Piccadilly to the hotel. There was a bit of a problem as they initially declared they'd never heard of us and then, armed with a reservation number, decided we were supposed to be arriving in September! A few phone calls on their behalf later and they went from fully booked for the night to mysteriously having a room available (given it didn't actually get serviced Friday I suspect it was some sort of reserve room, and wonder if anyone actually knew we were there!) Problem solved we wandered around Manchester for a bit, discovering the The Old Wellington to be as busy as ever. We also discovered that they've removed the big wheel, which meant we didn't have the chance to add it to our collection in the daylight.

Manchester is still the city of random recorder players, though seems to now lack so many strange dancing people. There is for me though still that lack of je ne sais quoi. A city too large perhaps, too aware of its size. Or just not the better liked Liverpool.

Unfortunately things weren't helped by Jan not feeling particularly well, so it was a night in the hotel room, with a short dash for me to find a McDonalds and two Big Macs. There's a 24-hour spar at least, and after a quick call for a hairdryer at reception we had time for a night cap at the empty hotel bar which didn't seem to have anything we wanted.

Friday

The Stone Roses!!

Friday brought a bit more wandering around, doing nothing in particular. It didn't seem like Stone Roses fans were taking over or drinking the place dry quite as much as Oasis fans had done a couple of years before. Confronted with our t-shirts the barman at the Bank (we seem to have inadvertently been frequenting Nicholsons pubs!) told us he was going Saturday. I told him I hoped the Roses would get as far as a second gig (which of course they did).

We'd called in their on the way to Manchester Art Gallery. Not too overwhelming, though a couple of nice Lowry's (pity we didn't really have the time or planning to visit the proper Lowry Gallery; on the list for next time).

Then, after a quick spruce up at the hotel, we went to find a bus. Oh dear. Having been to Heaton Park to see Oasis we thought this would be a simple enough affair, given the how smoothly that went. Far from it. It appears First, Manchester couldn't organise a simple bus fleet. We joined the long, snaking queue awaiting buses, which initially seemed to be moving quickly enough. We were soon round the corner, and only then noticed the ticket office of an old bus selling the wrist bands for the journey (they seemed to have taken a bus window, with sliding part at the top, and spun it round to form a kiosk window with opening at the bottom). I snuck out of line to be stung be the frankly ridiculous £10 (!) price. The trouble with charging so much is that you really should have the transport then available. We stood. And stood. On the road beside us three cars got into a rear end pranging game. We were still stood in the same place by the time they'd sorted it out and moved on. At one point a minibus appeared, and took all of fifteen lucky souls away. The information varied between non-existent and contradictory (15 buses! 25! Stuck in traffic. More just coming from depot!) A complete shambles but we did eventually crowd on to a double decker to Heaton Park.

And were dropped off one heck of a walk from the arena. Then, having followed the hoards, realised that as we had VIP tickets we needed to get to a specific gate. So had to walk the long way round the outside of the venue, to another queue. Exclusive merchandise was collected (erm, a t-shirt and Jim 'll fix it badge, basically; plus beer and food tokens) we headed for...another queue. Why, having just checked our tickets they thought they should check everyone again is rather beyond me, as is why it took so long given that when we finally reached the front it was a simple scan of barcode and beep of machine. But there we stood, the muffled sounds of Primal Scream vaguely drifting over the high barriers. I held our place while Jan made use of the surprisingly not too busy portaloos near by.

Inside we found the bar, which was still busy but probably nowhere near as bad as in the main area. The slight chaos was personified by the barmaid who brought me Jan's two pints but wandered off without bringing mine which meant I had to get someone else's attention (though did save a couple of tokens). We found a pretty damn good pizza and burger too. Then on, into the venue proper, wending our way through the crowds (where I lost my camera, hence only phone pics).

Stone Roses

The absolutely amazing Stone Roses

From the opening bars of I Wanna Be Adored you could tell they were back and here and with it. This was the Roses, live, together and they sounded fucking amazing. Okay, so Ian Brown isn't going to win a pure singing talent contest any time soon but he has that thing lacking from the mass produced, cookie cutter, Britain's Got The Same Old Shit new generation; sheer presence. Put that together with Squire, Mani and Reni playing like gods and you get something pretty untouchable. We sang along, we stood, grinning like mad people in utter awe. The setlist included every track from that seminal first album but more too, none of it sounding any less or out of place (I've never been one of these Second Coming haters; they could have played almost all of that album too and I would have been happy. As it was we got personal fave Ten Storey Love Song and some of the random singles, including a wonderful, drawn out Fools Gold). I've never heard a band play so many songs which are just as good as each other one after the other quite like that. They signed off with I Am The Resurrection and fireworks (no encore, despite the cries of "Don't Stop" and still having some wonderful songs in reserve). Was it worth stupid buses, walking round the venue and all the queuing? Oh yes, in a heartbeat. *****. Reviewed by Ian Scott

The stupidity with the buses continued on the way back with an ill thought out queuing system seeing people rushing forwards back the way we'd just come every time a bus left. The angered mood on the bus was at least lightened for those lucky enough to be gazing through its windows at the right moment. In the lit window of one of the many suburban Manchester homes we passed stood an older middle-aged man in dressing gown, holding what looked like a rum and coke which he raised to our passing bus in salute. What made the moment even greater though was that this was the bedroom and in the bed his wife raised herself up to wave to us!

And then it was bedtime, with happy dreams.

Saturday

Janet and John

Singing in the Cavern Pub

Having done what we came to do we left Manchester behind after a quick cup of morning tea, catching the train to Liverpool. Coming out of Lime Street we rested up in the lovely Grade II listed Crown Hotel before heading to find where we were staying. Unlike Manchester, who's map seems ingrained on my brain, no matter how many times I visit Liverpool always seems to leave me directionally challenged---maybe that's one reason why it seems a bit more exciting. These days we have smart phones and Google Maps (and I'd even managed to print off a map before leaving home) so I did manage to navigate our way to our apartment, even if I did probably go a bit of a long way round. Settled in we went wandering around the city, delving into the Cavern Pub. If there's one thing about Liverpool it's its inability to move on from the Beatles. They're everywhere. For a fan like Jan this is wonderful but someone who never real got what the over-hyped fuss was about, like me, it's just a bit tiresome. Anyway, I listened to the singer do his best not to murder a Beatles number and an Oasis song before we headed for the docks and the big wheel. Having found the ferris in Manchester gone we could at least add Liverpool's to our collection.

With afternoon giving way to evening we found a fish and chip shop for food, first diving into the nearby Tesco to buy ketchup and vinegar to take back to the apartment with us. They did make for a tasty conclusion to the day.

That big wheel

Sunday

Sunday was a bit chilly so Jan ended up buying a Beatles fleece from the Beatles Story shop (<sigh> more Beatles). Then we went to look at Tate Liverpool. To be honest it didn't seem as interesting and engaging as it has on previous visits---perhaps just unlucky with the exhibits at the time.

After that bit of culture we did some more wandering around the city, taking in more shops. This included one shop with a dog who had a problem with hats (seriously, it saw me---wearing hat---and rose from its quiet slumber on the counter to growl. Having been informed of the problem by the proprietor I removed my hat, which did indeed placate it. Still didn't like Jan though, who kept her hat on). We also discovered York isn't the only place with a Shared Earth, which led to the acquisition of far too many trinkets. At least the people of Liverpool appreciated my hat, unlike they're dogs, one passer-by breaking into stereotypical character to inform me it was "sound".

Eventually we wound our way back to the Crown, avoiding the march going past the station. We tried to get something to eat, but the chef had vanished. So we waited until we saw food beginning to appear, indicating his return. After that it was back to the apartment for quiet time, and the Euro 2012 final.

Monday

The Famous Cavern

As we were packing to leave the maintenance man knocked on the door to replace a light bulb we hadn't noticed was missing (it was one of those above the hob---what they really need is some brighter lighting in the bathroom). He also mentioned he'd spotted us in the pub round the corner the afternoon before, which just goes to show nothing gets past the people of Liverpool. Anyway, all packed we took the luggage to be left in left luggage at the station and hunted round for something to do, in the rain.

Despite the fact the obviously out of date guide book in the apartment told us it was closed Mondays the Walker Gallery was open. It made a distraction for a little while at least, made the more interesting by a Rolf Harris exhibit. After that there's was just time for a visit to the actual Cavern Club (oh yes, more Beatles) to satisfy the Pixie. Then it was the long train home, at last!

Update: A bit of phone recorded audio from the gig added so you can hear how awsome the Roses were (though obviously they were so much, much better in real life)

It seems I'm absolutely hopeless at blogging at the moment, but I'm going to try and get this up before I go and forget. A Thursday a, er, few weeks ago Jan and I went to see a gig with the Happy Mondays original line up (together again for the first time in umpteen years) supported by the Inspiral Carpets, at Newcastle Academy.

I should probably confess at this point that the Inspirals confuse me. I like their songs, sing along to the catchy lyrics, and then the bouncy organ comes in and I don't particularly get why. Maybe that's just my overly guitar driven taste. It doesn't mean I don't like them, it just means they, well, as I said, confuse me.

That said, I did sing-along and bounce around, and wasn't even too bothered by the organ interruptions (we didn't get Clint Boon on the organ, for rather sad reasons). All very bouncy and jolly, a pretty damn fine warm-up to the main event (I'd post a set list, except I've no idea what it was, and neither does the internet it seems. Oh, and I'm going to have Saturn 5 stuck in my head again now).

Unfortunately my phone died at some point during the Inspiral's set, so no hastily snapped photos of the Happy Mondays to post. I might not have taken many anyway, given how involved I was in dancing quite close to (and against) certain lady. The Monday's certainly got the floor moving, dancing around like the briefly present Bez (poor lad can't keep up these days, vanishing after the first couple of songs to not reappear until the end). Shaun still doesn't have anything like a classic singing voice of course but, to borrow a phrase from the support, they were cool as fuck.

****. Reviewed by Ian Scott

Must get things out of draft! On which note, taking far too long to write up as usual (perhaps I should try writing these things more as they happen), a look back at a very relaxing week's break in a very sunny Cornwall, as undertaken by Janet and I. There was plenty of sun, and walking, and beaches, and pubs.

It started with a morning train out of London Paddington. That unfortunately took 5 hours (the only downside to Cornwall I could see is that it's so far away---not a problem once there!) At least our carriage had back of seat entertainment screens (the actual video content available from these was entirely uninspiring but there was a news feed and the real time position map kept us amused---even with a terribly unresponsive zoom button---eagerly waiting to see Penzance appear in the corner. It seems to have been ripped from an airplane design, given who eager it was to tell us our trains altitude---presumably from sea-level!) Eventually, around quarter past three in the afternoon, we reached the very sunny end of the line, and immediately looked for a pub of course.

Finding a pub turned out to be remarkably difficult (we later realised that had we just turned a corner the other way from the station we would have fallen over one, but those are the breaks). We eventually reached the Star Inn, where we were greeted by a very friendly caretaker landlord, who was from Leeds. All that way, for someone from Leeds. Never mind, on from there to our accommodation...

Nestled just opposite the harbour, with views of the busy shore road and across the sea towards St Michael's Mount, the historic Dolphin Tavern has been around for a while. The interior has a modern feel though, despite the age and paraphernalia (such as the big brass diving helmets) around the place. Certainly the room the friendly and helpful staff showed us to could have almost been in a new build rather than a few hundred years old!

Rested up and settled in we went hunting for some food. Not fancying sampling what the Dolphin had to offer yet, we wandered until we found some traditional chips (complete with unasked for batter---to use the northern term---which was a bonus). It's ages since either of us had just strolled around eating proper chips, and doing so in the fading warmth of the day with the sea laid out below at the bottom of hilly Penzance was pleasurable indeed. We eventually made our way to the Dock Inn, just about next to the Dolphin, where there was a dog content to have a pebble in its mouth rather than a stick. We were tempted to recommend the Dolphin to the guests who came in to be informed that despite what they'd been told porridge wouldn't be available for breakfast in the morning! In the end we retired for final drinks in the Dolphin before making the short trip up the stairs (how convenient!) to bed.

Tuesday

Tuesday brought another bright and sunny morning, into which, after a nice breakfast in the bar, we set off with purpose, heading for the island we could see from our window. We went eastward along the shore. Somehow we managed to miss the seaside path at the station and so ended up on the "wrong" side of the railway lines. It was still a pleasant enough stroll the high way though, and we soon found a footbridge back across the lines to the seaside. Shortly after we discovered the reason for the helicopter emblazoned caution signs along the roadside we'd been following, as the taxi service from the Isles of Scilly came in low to land near us. After that bit of excitement (and watching a surprising number of people emerge from the helicopter) it was a relaxing stroll along the edge of the beach, watching the dog walkers. Amusingly at one point a jogger and her dog came running towards us just before the dog decided it had had enough of that and went of to play with its friends on the beach :-) There was even a man metal detecting.

With sand now filling our shoes we had a toilet stop at Long Rock before admiring the wildlife sanctuary and continuing to the Godolphin Arms at Marazion, which afforded a fine view of our destination from its windows while we refreshed with a pint. So rested we headed down and across the causeway to St Michael's Mount

The Mount's harbour and little shops at the bottom are nice, but it's a bit of a climb to the top! Whilst it describes itself as a castle there is unfortunately very little fortification remaining, and the building at the very top of the steep island has the feel of sprawling, if teetering, manor house rather than anything else. I have to say that wandering around the building was actually something of a disappointment. While the views from outside are beautiful one doesn't really get a sense of where one is inside, to the point of being abruptly surprised to emerge once more next to the entrance.

Getting back down from the Mount is no simple feat either, with not so much stairs as some rocks to climb down---not good for a nervous Janet. We took it slowly though, with plenty of rests, until we found ourselves once again crossing the causeway to explore the rest of Marazion. The Kings Arms seemed nice, with a lovely chocolate coloured labrador outside. There was a quiz on at nine, to which Colin would be going---and presumably Michelle the barmaid would be serving. Before we left another chocolate lab arrived, in some sort of Cadbury versus Mars battle.

After a bit more of a wander---never quite finding the curious looking white building we'd seen from the Mount---we caught a bus back along the road to Penzance, and prepared for the evening. That was actually fairly uneventful. We had some food in Penzance's Wetherspoon (they're everywhere!), brought to us by a pretty harassed young man who probably wasn't being helped by the seeming incompetence of his superiors taking the orders. Then it was a back to the Dolphin where we joined in with jukebox song selection (well, had to get some decent music on) before heading once more for restful sleep

Wednesday

Another breakfast and another sunny day. Having went east the day before this time we headed westward, armed with an OS map. We started along the promenade and then into Newlyn (a fishing village these days seemingly differentiated from Penzance more by the turn of the land more than anything else). There we rested up in a proper dockside pub. While the Dolphin maybe all comfort and modernity in an old building (don't swear!) the Star Inn (another one!) is a typical workers pub, complete with fisherman discussing in rough terms the intricacies of fishing quotas. We had to get on though, so headed along the docks and past the harbour to climb the hill towards Mousehole^*. The walk up has a lovely view across the sea, enlivened by the allotments we passed with strange scarecrows and other items adorning them in a quirky way. Mousehole itself is probably my favourite place we visited; another fishing village, but more isolated and feeling much smaller, with a wonderful harbour. The pub offered good beer and the chance to listen to one of the local fishermen pass on his culinary tips, and how he once cooked Sunday dinner in a force seven gale!

On we had to go though, as our goal still lay some way before us. We followed the coastal path round until coming to a steep, step strewn descent. As mentioned, Jan isn't the biggest fan of steps (happily bungee off a bridge at the drop of a hat but stairs...well). After a bit of a sit down to contemplate, and a fellow walker ascending the other way warning of worse to come, we decided it may not be the best idea to head that way (to be fair, even I was packing things more tightly and making sure both hands were free). So back we turned up the spectacular path to find a more inland route. Consulting the map we tried finding a path marked as heading for Lamorna where we could pick up our intended route but after a traipse across a muddy field decided there was no hope of telling where it actually was! Still undeterred (and made more determined by the setbacks) we ended up simply following the actual road around, so we could finally descend into the picturesquely beautiful Lamorna valley. Where the pub (delightfully named Lamrona Wink) was shut :-(

Not suitably refreshed therefore we could at least pick up the original plan and head off into the country. Although the diversions meant we'd now walked a bit further than originally intended we did at last come to our destination, the neolithic stone circle known as the Merry Maidens. On climbing the style into the field Jan was so overcome with the beauty (and tiredness, and maybe an expectation of something slightly bigger) that she burst into tears! Quickly recovered though we both collapsed into the circle of stones, and didn't move for a while.

It's a slightly surreal place, lying there in the sun with the stones silently standing as you can imagine them having done so for centuries, looking on. We toured them, walking the ring, feeling their coolness and wondering just why they were there---waymarkers, observatories, ancient tourist attraction? My plan had been to catch a bus back to Penzance; unfortunately there wasn't one, at least for hours. A glance at the map showed St Buryan "only" a couple of miles away. That would normally have been fine, but after walking all that way already... Never-the-less we set off through more glorious countryside (passing a burial mound) and followed the twisty country road towards the distant church tower. There were at least some sheep and lambs at the outskirts who posed for Jan, and she realised this is where part of Straw Dogs was filmed. We staggered into the pub, to be greeted with an enthusiastic chorus of "Welcome to the St Buryan Inn" in a very friendly, if a little strange, manner---and finally a pint.

The bus back to Penzance passed the Merry Maidens and through Newlyn, my head by now glowing due to having truly caught the sun. We ate in the Dolphin (very nice steak and ale pie) and managed to climb the hill to Penzance's oldest pub, the Turks Head (with a friendly feel; what seemed to be family either side of the bar) before basically collapsing into bed.

* Pronounced more like Mauzill apparently, but what a wonderful spelling!

Thursday

After the excursions of the day before we skipped morning breakfast to give a little more rest before setting out on the day's mission. We headed off to do something we'd foolishly thought we might have time to fit in the day before and catch a bus to Lands End. The bus route through to St Buryan was by now beginning to feel familiar, passing by our favourite ring of stones. The countryside gets even more spectacular after that---and the ride even wilder when sat at the front of the top deck of a double decker. Twisting through narrow country roads, down very steep gradients with hairpin turns, bus driving in Cornwall seems to be some sort of extreme sport. Our driver deposited us safely however, leaving us literally no where to go---we'd run out of land!

Lands End itself is a little strange. The scenery is of course amazing but the "venue" itself seems more geared towards those with children (the rather strange experience of Brian Blessed's booming voice inviting us onto some sort of quest). There is at least a bar but a walk up to the last and first refreshment house turned into the last and first disappointment as it was shut (apparently we managed to miss the last and first inn, which is in the village of Sennen about a mile's walk away). We did finally have a pasty---though it was so hot one could barely taste it; we wondered if this was some sort of protest against VAT on hot pasties! And of course we stood by the famous sign post (though we weren't going to pay the extortionate fees to the official photographer). The gift shop was another disappointment, being filled with tack (including I Heart London things!) Hint, sell little miniature sign posts, possibly personalised with various town names---I'd have bought one of those.

Having taken in the scenery and "attractions" it was back to the bar. There we spent some time watching several pints settle (barrel had just been changed). As we sat in the conservatory (the wind having forced us in from our earlier outdoor perch) a man we took to be the owner came and asked "Is everything OK... Goood" in peculiar american accent. Strange.

Despite the seeming hours waiting for a pint to settle we still managed to pick up the bus back. It's indicative of the feel of the place that the driver stopped in one of the smaller villages to post a letter, and would later inform a passing fellow driver of a woman waiting to be picked up to go to St Just. As we headed once more through St Buryan the day was still fairly young and we'd liked it so much yesterday that we decided a return to Mousehole was in order (partly because Jan was regretting not having bought anything in the gift shop there). We jumped off the bus in Newlyn therefore to head back up the road, pausing to watch some guillemots in the Dolphin Inn (are pub names in Cornwall restricted or something!?). The gift shop gave forth the usual magnets and heart shaped stones (one day I'm going to have to read the tale of the Mousehole Cat). The pub was as nice as we recalled, made quite a bit nicer by the knowledge we wouldn't be walking quite so many miles on leaving this time!

We did decide to enjoy the early evening and walk back down to Penzance though. On the way into Newlyn we stopped off at the Red Lion. In my opinion all pubs should have a cat and this one was sat proudly on a stool by the bar. According to the barmaid it doesn't live there but lives next door and just comes in. I'm not surprised given that she proceeded to feed it!

Talking of food we headed off in search of some. As Janet likes Italian we found ourselves in Gino's by the promenade. Our waitress (proprietor?) seemed very nervous as she seated us and handed the menu. We then got to watch in amusement as a group of Japanese tourists arrived and tried to pick their own table, only to be moved in no uncertain terms (the restaurant is large and was empty other than us). It's a good job there was some amusement given that they brought Jan a slightly wrong meal with rice which was undercooked. Mine was OK though; still, wouldn't exactly recommend.

We know we went out after that but, thanks to the beer through the day and the two bottles of wine with dinner, neither us can actually really remember what we did!! So, there we will have to leave Thursday in anticipation of a hungover Friday.

Friday

Friday morning found us staggering down to breakfast---fry-up to recover, served by the laughing chef. The Dolphin were good enough to hold onto our luggage as we went exploring for our last day. We didn't want to go too far afield so went a little round the corner to delight in the sub-tropical Morrab Gardens before crossing to Penley Museum and gardens, where we relaxed in the orangery (I had an apple juice, which despite what Jan might say, isn't the same as cider).

Then it was for a final wander round town, taking in the little bits (like the wharfside shopping centre) we'd managed to miss so far. Unfortunately we had a train to catch at two so couldn't take too long. We headed back down the hill towards the sea, calling in the Union Hotel (where Nelson's victory and death were first announced to England) before a final call to the Dolphin for our bags and a goodbye pint. There was just time for Jan to actually run to a shell shop on the way to the station before we had to regretfully watch Penzance slip away from the trains live map. We will be back.

Lots more photographs now available!

World Parkinson's Disease Awareness Day

Photograph by the author, taken at the bottom of St Michael's Mount, Cornwall

The newly redesigned EngDesign website (Click for bigger

I thought I'd mentioned something about this before but it seems the last time I mentioned the EngDesign website was when I was surprised by it (and complained of its tag soup). Since then I've pretty much taken over webmastering it. I knocked that design into semantic HTML and CSS shape (screen shot here, taken from local archive copy), and just recently it's underwent another redesign (based on the same underlying mark-up, more of less, as I didn't have time to change too much). Comparison screen shot for posterity.

It certainly feels more crisp and even, so to speak. Anyway, just thought I'd mention.

One of my unwritten rules for 365 has been that each day's photo must have been taken that day. In the past this has meant some not so great photos have gone up while other, better, shots have missed out (more on that coming in a later review post). I failed to take anything on the 15 December though, so I've had to break my own rule. The question (once I'd gotten over the mild disappointment of the realisation) was what to do? I did consider digging back for a photo from that date in a previous year but a quick search revealed that's never been a popular day for me to snap away (i.e. I couldn't find one). I also very briefly considered faking up the date-times of something but that would only be cheating myself. In the end I went for something from the "365 archives", a shot I liked but hadn't made it for that day. The chosen photo would probably have made been used if I hadn't already got one with the gorillas in it a short time before, and I had another photo from the day in question I quite liked. Anyway, it's in the series now, and seemed the best solution I could come up with.

The original draft of this post now talked about how there were only three more photos to go. Well, due to more normal tardiness, that isn't so. I've done Project 365, January 21 2011 to January 20 2012. So, the question becomes, will I keep going? Well, it is a leap year, which has pushed me over the edge---so Project 366 is ongoing. I'm going to be a bit more lax about my own rules this time round though---I'm not necessarily going to use a photo from that day (which means I don't have to take something (anything!) each day. I'll aim to keep this "cheating" to a minimum though, maybe about one a week, so as to keep up the pressure to practice shooting. And I'm not going to worry quite so much about repeating subjects (especially subjects from Project 365). Oh, and there's a new camera! While I'll continue to carry around the little Canon Powershot SX 130 IS there's now a Canon 1100D DSLR in the mix :-D

I'll probably say a bit more in the promised post to come (whenever that appears!) but for now, I'm done :-)

Christmas day my dad came over and Jan and I actually cooked christmas dinner. Given this was a first for either of us I think we did quite well. What we ended up with certainly looked dinner like and nobody got poisoned, so pretty good all round. Dad went home just in time for the obvious highlight of christmas, Doctor Who.

Christmas dinner does feel like about all we cooked though---seem to have eaten out a lot, while doing post christmas shopping (the pixie got me a coat, and a jacket) or just wandering around. All that stress had taken the desire to try our own hand in the kitchen out of us.

One of the things we finally got round to seeing The Turner Prize at the Baltic. I have to say something about the Baltic's organisation of this, which seemed a bit chaotic. The queue for the Turner was directed outside, down the side of the building (which on a very windy day such as when we visited was no fun---we struggled to actually make the entrance). We were intercepted and directed there by the solitary member of staff on duty for such things, but there didn't seem to be even the simplest of signage (well, I didn't notice any; and if it is noticeable, it's a bit pointless). Once in the right place there was a steady trickle of people arriving from inside the other areas of the Baltic, obviously unaware of the arrangements (and why not; they might want to see the rest. Also, I had to move the rope barriers for some of them to come and join the queue as the staff seemed to be ignoring them---pretty poor!) Further, there was no warning of the further, long, queue one could expect once up the dedicated lift. I can understand the need for some crowd control but given how much of a flagship event this was for Baltic the overall impression was pretty bad :-(. The exhibition itself was hit and miss, though Jan and I agreed George Shaw's paintings were good; an almost surreal photographic quality.

In a different artistic mode we also saw The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. We agreed it was OK, though a little obvious and too long (it seems that story needs some serious editing---there was a half hour at the end that had nothing to do with the main movie and you'd think the whole thing could be a bit tighter). Probably good enough to see the next one if they can keep the running time down (as an aside, how complicated can a self-service ticket machine at a cinema be?? The Odeon at the Metrocentre seemed to ask about six million questions when all I wanted was two tickets---that's after I'd traversed figuring out what to press for a particular film and time and day).

Not a lot else happened to be honest. Spent New Year's Eve in the traditional manner of watching Jools Holland while drinking Southern Comfort/Jack Daniels. Cleared out a wardrobe of clothes. Tickled the cats. Came back to work.

Happy 2012!

I've been thinking about Demba Ba and Cheick Tiote's absence at the Africa Cup of Nations. While Ba is obviously a huge miss the one thing a team needs when they might be struggling to score goals is not to be letting them in at the other end. Which brings us to Tiote. I've just sat down while waiting for dinner to cook and taken at our goals conceded record both with and without the man in midfield. By my reckoning (not double checked, based on nufc.com match reports, league only, assumes a match is 90 minutes), we've played 14 matches (barring 8 minutes when he was subbed off) with Tiote and 6 without. Without him we've conceded 13 goals, with him one less at 12. That equates to a goal against every 104 minutes while Cheick is on the pitch (i.e. less than one per game) compared with one every 42 minutes (i.e. one per half!) without him.

Of course like all such analysis there a many things neglected (strength of opposition faced, form and availability of the rest of the team, etc) but I still think it goes to show how important he is defensively. We need to keep tight for those harder to come by goals to count!

[And for anyone actually wondering what the quoted Aitken Head was on about in the original article it's a reference to the idea that if you cut him open he'd "bleed black and white blood". Basically he's trying to get across the passion and feeling involved, as well as how deep seated some things are.]

Incidentally, this isn't the first letter of mine published. The first, long ago, doesn't seem to have gotten a mention here.

Really it does seem that its an area in complete stagnation. I'd have paid a bit more for something a little bit cooler (despite how little I use the landline for actual telephony) but I wasn't given the chance.

Full disclosure: Amazon did turn up this Binatone thing (which reviews suggested was way under powered) and a quick google just now found this from Archos, which looks a bit nicer. Really though, I don't necessarily want something on the scale of Android, just something better than what is out there.