goat your own way

A late night out last night with a few more glasses of ale than are strictly necessary meant a tentative waking this morning.  The crab curry was wonderful, though. However, I felt better than I deserved to.  I awoke much as many of you did too, I'm sure, to a wonderful sunny day - almost a brief Indian Summer after all the rain of the last few days.

Still, it is officially Autumn and that means listening to Sandy Denny come rain or shine.



A Martello Tower by the Links



Mrs Dave and I walked up to the Ferry this afternoon in the warmth of the early autumn sun. I was tempted to buy some locally caught sea bass from my favourite fishmonger but we'd already done the shopping so perhaps I'll go back up later in the week.  We sat in the Ferry Boat Inn and had a glass of Woodforde's Wherry before wandering back home.  We had to get back by 6:30 as Strictly Come Dancing is back on and Mrs D has to watch that. We walked back past the Links (a golf course near the sea) that M. R. James mentions in Oh, Whistle And I'll Come To You My Lad and near a couple of  Martello Towers still defending our coast. There were a lot of fishermen out today - we watched a Mackerel being caught. There were a few sailing boats out as well as two hardy souls in kayaks - we haven't managed to get wet suits yet otherwise we may have been out there, too.

As the sky grows darker a more autumnal feel grows, too.  Suddenly, Sandy Denny seems more appropriate.  Tomorrow should be another nice one and I'm torn between getting the little foot ferry over to Bawdsey to do a bit of foraging or drive over to the Cold War Museum that I've just found out about. It's always so exciting around here.



Bawdsey Manor

 Bawdsey Manor was where Radar was developed by Robert Watson-Watt et al and they have a museum there which you can only go to on certain days in the year.  The last one was 9th September so I'll have to wait until next year now to go to the exhibition. It must be great living in large towns and cities where you can see things all year round.  As soon as I get an interest and think about going to a museum I have to wait half a year by which time I've forgotten about it.  After reading Francis Spufford's wonderful The Backroom Boys, I've got a real interest in going to see this sort of stuff.  Ah well.

We're having a very quiet weekend at home. We were supposed to be out camping with the Duke of Edinburgh kids this weekend but not enough of them could get it together to go this weekend. I said that we need to remind them what a fantastic weekend this would have been if it's cold, miserable and raining when we finally get to go in (probably) November.  Their loss.

Despite a poorish summer, we're still harvesting tomatoes and I managed to pick these fine specimens this morning (the ones in front).  There are still loads of green ones out there - we can't possibly make any more chutney as we have a cupboard full of the stuff. Talking of food, I finally managed to source some goat meat last weekend. We also bought a new slow cooker in an attempt to be more organised.  Actually I think it's a cunning plan by Mrs Dave to get me to prepare food so that we eat earlier during the week.  Still, I made a fantastic goat curry on Tuesday that had been cooking very, very slowly for about ten hours.  It was wonderful.  Why more people don't eat goat in this country continues to amaze me. Evidently the company that I bought it from can't source it from Suffolk and get it from Spain. Jokingly, Mrs Dave suggested that perhaps that's our plan B - leave teaching and start raising goats? Hmm . . .

so, coeliac, you're breaking my heart

I'm certainly no fan of Simon and Garfunkel, but I couldn't resist the pun.

Mrs Dave invited some long-standing friends around for a meal on Saturday evening. All very well, it's been a while since we had guests but the husband is a coeliac (sufferer?) and that can cause a few problems over what food is served.  Mrs Dave often takes me to task for what I serve up - actually the WAY I serve it up. Evidently not everyone is impressed with fish with their heads still on or meat on the bone.  For instance, I was in rapture on Friday night with the Himalayan Lamb and Yogurt Curry we cooked, saying how I'd love to serve it up to guests.  However, I'm reliably informed by my more attractive and intelligent half, that not everyone will be impressed with neck end of lamb served on the bone even if served up in a surprisingly delicate and subtle sauce.  And a few friends have been taken aback by being served up fish et al served au naturel -that is, head on, un-filleted and scaly ( as nature intended). Now I know, I'm less likely to screw up (evidently). Perhaps some people are just fussy? Actually, I cooked some sardines today for lunch.  I really don't think she was that impressed - too many bones.

Anyway, some friends came round and we served them a meal fit for a king (okay one with coeliac): scallops wrapped in bacon, roast chicken with fruit and quinoa* (instead of vegetables) and a polenta cake (drizzled with orange etc). Excellent stuff. I even had to source some Gluten-free beer. Thank you, St Peter's. It all went very well - all except the fact that I seemed to be the only one drinking the wine. Lots of it. . .

It all went very well and I think Victor (the coeliac) and I have agreed to go to the cinema together to see the sort of films our spouses don't want to see but that's good (nothing sordid, you understand, but films like The Sweeney).  However, I must admit food like that seems to have a rather drastic impact on my stomach but I guess nobody needs to be concerned with my stomach's capriciousness.

After waking up just slightly left of a hangover, I managed to spend Sunday avoiding any form of work - much as I'm doing now, in fact. A bath, some washing up from the previous night's entertainment, a quick bit of toast and I was ready to find something far more entertaining to do.  So, we went off to one of my favourite shops, the Adnam's Shop at Woodbridge.  I felt that it was beholden upon me to investigate Adnam's new ranges of beer. Martyn Cornell may have a vague interest at this point.  Sole Star appears to be a "pale amber ale with a light floral citrus aroma and gentle caramel notes". At 2.7% abv, it's very welcome.  Mrs Dave assures me that the new Ginger Beer that they've produced is much more "beery" than the recent ones from Crabbies et al. I'll take her word for it, but at 2.5% it does seem to fit in with the current zeitgeist . Actually, ginger is very good for an upset stomach.  So, the next time I get one, I'll drink ginger beer as a panacea for my ills. They also seem to have started to produce Ghost Ship in cans so Adnams seem to be on the up. As long as they don't overeach themselves the way Greene King have then things will be okay. Low level alcohol beers are currently in vogue, and as long as they taste good and are not just a sop to Government rules, then all's well.  The jury's still out, of course.

Talking of ills - one of the work avoidance tactics I took was to drive off and find a wood somewhere to wander around. Although Mrs Dave wasn't feeling totally chipper today (?!) she agreed to join me in my current obsession to get my hands stung and ripped by thorns. We did get a few more blackberries at Melton (near Woodbridge for you map-crazed geeks) but I finally availed myself of the plethora of rosehips available. I will put my hand on my heart here and say that I have NEVER picked these wonderfully ubiquitous fruits before.  Obviously, you all have and think that I'm such a pleb©  for not having ever done it before. Anyway, I have now. I have actually made Rosehip Syrup - that's right, with its 20% higher amount of Vitamin C than oranges, I have access to natural health oozing from a bottle in our fridge. And I cut my own hands up in the making of it. I guess I won't get a cold this year, then.  Watch this space . . .

The other thing I wanted to mention was our "I want it and I want it NOW" culture.  I don't know where you sit on that but I'd welcome some comment on it. On Friday evening, I decided that I desperately wanted to hear a new album by a favourite artist of mine.  I had only just found out that day that Declan Sinnott (Moving Hearts, Christy Moore et al) has finally released a solo album after some 40 years of being involved in the Irish music scene; so, after a beer or two I decided that whilst the lamb was stewing (currying?) that I needed to listen to it NOW.

I'm glad I did because other than the song Corrine Corrine, it's  a great album -  I agree with the reviewer that it has a bit of a melodic J. J. Cale feel to it. But the point is that when I were a nipper (okay, a teen) if I wanted something I'd have to wait - or go to London to hunt it down.  Now, we can have anything we want immediately.  Amazon and iTunes have a lot to answer for. Personally, I think that this is a dangerous thing but revel in it any way, after all what's wrong with waiting for a few days? I will admit that I feel I am usually less excited by new discoveries nowadays than I was as a kid.  There are still things that excite me now, but more of that next time.

What do we get excited about now?

* pronounced "keen-wa"

look at the country, man, it's looking so nice

O who can pass such lovely spots
Without a wish to stray
And leave life's cares a while forgot
To muse an hour away?

Last weekend and we awoke to a beautiful mid-September day and decided to just get the van and go away for the rest of the weekend. To hell with work and other (possibly) pressing matters, we thought.  Or, as the late, great Jimmy Alan Hull said, "Had more than my share of people giving advice, on the way that my life should be/But look at the country man it's looking so nice/it's feeling so good to be free./No time, no time to lose/No time, no time to lose". So, Mrs Dave and I quickly got down to the place where we keep Harvey and loaded him up with a few necessities* and off we went.  

I'd had a hankering to visit the island of Mersea for a long time now. Much like Lindisfarne (ooh, did you notice the a connection there?) it's an island that can be cut off by the tide. We got there early afternoon last Saturday and soon managed to find the campsite. I was immediately taken by the amount of bramble bushes behind us and was soon out with a plastic bag to fill up with blackberries:   Our hands were peppered with thorn pricks, our palms as sticky as  Bluebeard's**     I had been reliably informed that our local wild blackberries were fairly meagre - not so at Mersea.  Only thirty five or so miles away from home but absolutely heaving with goodly sized berries. There were a lot of huge red seed pod-things which, at the time, we weren't sure of.  Still, we were here for the weekend - time to worry about them later. After a quick lunch we went off to discover the village and shoreline of West Mersea.


sad deserted shore

 I don't think I've been to anywhere that has been so abundant with wild blackberries in all my life other than the occasional wild wood, mostly last Century. The island is quite well inhabited - it's only a few miles out of Colchester, so therefore close to London. There were blackberries growing everywhere - and those large red seed pods.  I didn't think they were rosehips as most of the rosehips I was aware of were quite small - these were huge. I've since discovered that they are Japanese Rose plants and are much more potent than our indiginous wild roses. I'm a bit annoyed as I could have picked thousands of them easily, but at least I'm aware of them so can keep an eye out for them in the future. They are gigantic - absolutely packed with Vitamin C.  Actually, tonight we had a wonderful pie Mrs D made using the residue of blackberries after Second Born (a brief visit) had finished making jam from the hoard. Meanwhile . . . after wandering around the island and witnessing a genuine Essex Big Fat Gypsy Wedding reception*** and buying a few dressed crabs for tea, we found ourselves on a salt marsh. As we sauntered across the wooden boards I spied from my little eye . . . samphire! I'd finally found some wild growing samphire.  Okay, so a bit out of season, but there it was.  I picked some much to the chagrin of Mrs Dave. A passer-by or two questioned her about me jumping off the causeway with a pair of scissors stripping the little elegant Triffid-like plants of their succulent "branches".  But, what the hey? We wandered home across the sadly deserted shore and I cooked them briefly in some water (no steamer in the van) and they were great. They tasted superb - the genuine haunt of the sea in each mouthful. The English Countryside is so diverse and life-restoring.
   

By 9:30, after finishing the i crossword and a glass or two of wine, we were ready to turn in.  It's the sea air, it really does relax you. We'd looked out at the evening sky and saw a beautiful end to the day but its promise didn't hold out.  Although Sunday morning was okay, it was a little disappointing, weather-wise. Still, we found an English vineyard which provided a rather excellent dry white wine that we supped this evening with our gammon and some interesting beers from the Mersea Brewery (yet to try).   Still, what a weekend. We realised that it's worth going away for a few days just to get away from the hubbub of everyday to revitalise the old batteries.  And it really did make a difference to how we felt during the early part of the week. Okay, it will never last but at least we felt good for a day or two . . . how will we feel tomorrow after being cooped up at home with poor weather?  Answers on a postcard . . .   Back to reality and this weekend we had work to do - painting bits of wall, shopping to do, school work (although no one believes that as we're all lazy and out of school by three o'clock) and our own homes to deal with:

49 reasons all in a line.
All of them good ones, all of them lies.
Driftin' with my lady we're oldest of friends.
Need a little work, and there's fences to mend.

Ah well, the summer holidays are long forgotten and life is back to normal. I do hope we've all had a good summer. Let's get back to normal and start blogging again, chaps, I feel that I need the intellectual stimulation.

* beer, bacon and a raincoat
** Seamus Heaney
*** you really should have seen the bridesmaid . . . as she turned round at different times we realised why 3D is fast becoming such a popular format: oh she's got a tatoo on her arm, oh and that one, jesus! - look at her back, it's Ray Bradbury in real life! 
   

wondering where the lions are

Sun's up, uh huh, looks okay
The world survives into another day
And I'm thinking about eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me
I had another dream about lions at the door
They weren't half as frightening as they were before

A sort of Greek "Narnia"
 (lion, witch, wardrobe, whatever) 

As Bruce Cockburn finished the song and as the applause started, Mrs Dave leant over and said, "I think they're in Essex". Evidently not but the story lingers.

We travelled to Cambridge yesterday to see Cockburn with great excitement as I'd never seen him live before. I had bought lps of his back in the mid 1980s before we even came up to Suffolk. He's been around since the 1970s but still not that well known over here. I know he plays the Greenbelt festival quite often but that's often the only time he's over here. Only Christians are allowed to go there and I'm not sure I could stomach a whole festival full of them. He started the evening with If This Was the Last Night of the World which is my favourite song of his so I knew we were in for a treat.  We weren't disappointed. It's a lovely little theatre for about 200 - very intimate. Perfect for such a night.

Anyway, back to those lions.  It seems that although nobody can actually verify their existence (its?) the story wants to hang around. It was still being discussed on Radio 4 this morning. A panel of reviewers of the newspapers all came out in denying the existence of the "Essex Lion" although one of them claimed to have seen a dead leopard by the side of a road in England (I'm not sure whereabouts). Obviously that doesn't mean there's a lion roaming about in Essex! But it's interesting that people seem to want to believe in such stories. An article in Friday's independent says that although there's no lion in Essex, there is a poisonous snake. We seem desperate to believe that there are all sorts of wild animals roaming the British Countryside - pumas, lions and leopards, lynxes, dinosaurs (well, the Loch Ness Monster).

There are some unusual ones out there, of course. Recently in Yorkshire I spied some wild Macaws and we know of parakeets (I've seen one in Ipswich but that may have been an escapee), wallabies, wild boar and now beavers in Scotland and in the future, we are promised, wolves. I was reminded of that last weekend as I drove past Wolves Wood in Suffolk on my way down to a beer festival in Edwardstone. It's name, I presume, is a reminder of the fact that they used to roam wild in this country. If they are reintroduced, they won't be wild (livid, maybe) but under controlled circumstances.  Is there really any point? They're busy spending a fortune on reintroducing long-since gone creatures while modern practices are causing the obliteration of current species at a ridiculous rate.  Insects and invertebrates are being lost at an alarming rate yet we seem determined on introducing species that have died out (not extinct) and can't survive on these - overcrowded - islands. Don't get me wrong, I would love to say I've seen some of these things in the wild, but truth to tell - as the sea eagles have proved, they'll be hunted to extinction. Nobody really wants them. For sure, it's a shame but we have to live in the moment.

I don't know if there are really exotic creatures waiting in the darkness of the woods but I'm still excited by simple pleasures - I was quite upset not to see the red squirrel behind our tent in Yorkshire last month. I was, however, very excited to see swallowtails, pelicans and egrets in Greece. They're able to coexist there, nobody minds them. Here, we seem to not care about everyday exotics we see - jays and goldfinches for example (and soon sparrows will be a rare exotic); and swallows are less likely to be turning up over here over the next few years.

I'd like to keep the mystery of the rare creatures - like unicorns, lions and their ilk should be hidden and rumoured. We don't actually need to see them to believe in them do we? Do we really need a corpse to accept that there are strange things out there?  I love the idea that there may be unusual, exotic and rare creatures out there.  I'd love to see something but I don't need to actually see them to continue to hope that they're out there in the woods, fields and hills.

Cut and move on
Cut and move on
Take out trees
Take out wildlife at a rate of species every single day

like the weather

I read with interest yesterday morning that Britain has "sold out of Mediterranean holidays" as people have suddenly realised that after all that basking in Olympic glory they needed a summer holiday.  The cost of these holidays soared as many couldn't find flights - there were plenty of apartments, villas and hotels to be had. Just no flights. We must have been lucky - I guess it's because we booked during Olympic fever. Mrs D booked on the Thursday and we went on the Sunday.
Many people could have done themselves a favour and travelled down (across?) to East Anglia for the past week. Since coming back last Sunday we've had nothing but Mediterranean-style weather and it seems to have gone by at a leisurely pace.

It's gone a bit cloudy this afternoon but on the whole, it's been hot. The streets around us were filling up with tourist's cars as they rushed down to the beach since before ten o'clock. I've just been out with my son for a practice drive and I've never seen this small seaside town so busy. There are cars parked everywhere; the beaches are full of bored teenagers, beached whales and children building sandcastles eating sand-flecked ice creams. it must be standing room only down the kiss me quick area. 

Earlier on in the week I came upon this field of sunflowers.  I don't think I've seen one around here before - in France, yes, but not East Anglia. Very Mediterranean. So much so that despite our Greek maritime adventure, Mrs Dave and I have spent parts of the last few days paddling around out on the rolling sea in our kayak. Not exactly Homer's wine dark sea, more a dirty wine glass. Still, it's large wet and deep the same as the Greek stuff. We went up the coast a little way to meet some friends and their family having a good old fashioned British day out on the beach. After a jolly hour or so and a cup of tea we paddled back homewards. A barbecue in the evening - the first this summer, believe it or not - and we sat out until late listening to music, drinking and chatting by the light of our little chimenea. We haven't really done that for a few years due to the last few summers being a bit, well . . .

Speaking of which, yesterday's i newspaper had an article about the UK's worst place names.  I can't find a link to it but the winner is Shitterton in Dorset, closely followed by places like Crapstone, Scratchy Bottom and Golden Balls.  Isn't Britain great? Do other cultures have such great names for their settlements, I wonder? Who needs to go abroad?

Well, me actually. Although it didn't rain when we were away (on the island at least) it did rain heavily on the mainland and on Lefkada.  I couldn't get a decent photo of this because I couldn't get far back enough. It looks too blue - it was very, very dark. This was a real Rene Magritte moment. On one side of the hotel it was bright sunshine and on the other it was a huge black threatening sky. It came  to nought on our island, thankfully. Most islanders were hoping for some rain - we were in a nine week heat wave. As we were only there for a week I certainly didn't want it to rain. Well, it didn't anyway. Our little room was the middle one on the right overlooking the pool. A perfect spot to sit and drink ouzo at the end of a lazy day. No hosepipe ban there though. Look at how verdant it seems.

Despite all this, Mrs Dave is out in the garden cutting wood to make kindling.  I wonder if she knows something I don't about the weather?

for those in peril on the sea

Well, Cornwall's changed. The small hilly streets are familiar with the colourfully painted close houses. There was plenty of good food and the weather was remarkably good for that part of the world. There were a lot of Greeks around, though.

Actually, back in the early to mid 1970s I spent many happy days in St Ives with friends. There are a few tales about those holidays at the end of our school days which occasionally get told. Not right now, though.

Mevagissey is a small fishing village as is Vathy on Meganisi. If you look at the two entries in Wikipedia you will notice that they actually look similar. Easy mistake to make - after all they both take about the same time to get to from where we live. Actually, it's quicker to get to Greece.

I thought we might escape the Olympic madness that spread quicker than swine fever throughout the land but it wasn't to be. On "Super Saturday" we sat in the bar of a hotel in Gatwick with nothing else to do but to get caught up in the euphoria. It was pretty impressive. Impressive in the way that the closing ceremony wasn't - spectacular rubbish, really. I enjoyed Ray Davies (not sure about the Ronald McDonald hair though, Ray - or was that to fit in with some of the clowns dancing around you?). Obviously it was all gloriously over the top but good old Ray seemed bemused to be there. I was a little taken aback by the "superstar" version of Wish You Were Here - with local Suffolk boy Ed Sheran. Now, excuse me if I'm mistaken but isn't that a song by Roger Waters about being alienated from other people? Er, doesn't quite fit the bill there methinks.  Oh! Of course, no one listens to the actual words, the title fits so that's all that matters. I gave up before the Who came on.  Well done to the Thin White Dame for refusing to appear in person*.

Meanwhile, back on holiday. Several people were able to access their iPhone's internet; I must admit I couldn't be bothered. I thought it was going to be expensive as I had been told not to log on to the internet whilst I was away. However, I was able to use the phone as we'll see . . .

The last time I was in that area (Lefkada) about ten or eleven years ago we hired a little boat. We spent a good few hours putt-putting along the coast and crossing to some of the little islands that are scattered across the Ionian and even spotted dolphins. So on return to the area and with little else to do on the wonderfully quiet island we hired a boat instead of a car.

We shared the boat with another couple we had met - of whom more at another time. Obviously it meant it was quite cheap to hire the boat for the day as we shared the cost. Illustrated here is the actual boat we hired (honestly, it's better if you click on it).  My good friend Brendan may notice that this one was slightly bigger than the one we shared all those years ago.  This one had a steering wheel as opposed to the basic rudder we had then. This was about 30cc and was designed to cope with the four of us. So we booked the boat through the very accommodating hotelier and went down on the Friday to have a maritime adventure.

I was forced into taking the wheel for the first part of the trip and steered us quite well into the next waterside village. I even managed to moor well without bashing into the jetty. All going well so far. We breakfasted at a little taverna then took a swim and dried off under the Ionian sun. Time to get back in the boat**. Greg our new friend took the second shift. He had an idea that when big waves hit you should "steer into them" which somehow translated into circling round a few times to enjoy the thrill. That happened a few times.

After stopping to swim by throwing the anchor overboard a couple of times (another couple had also hired one of these - "throwing the anchor overboard" took on a different meaning as they saw it disappear under the boat) and found a lovely stony beach to sunbathe on. Feeling peckish we decided to find the next taverna down the coast. Mrs Dave was on captain duty. We pulled up to the jetty well, no problem.  She did mention at one stage that the steering wheel "doesn't seem too responsive at times". But it's an old boat well used by hundreds of holidaymakers over the years. But they do safety checks regularly, of course, don't they?

As we walked in to the garden of the Paradiso taverna down on the east coast of the island, we met the aforementioned anchor-less couple. Instant dinner party in a sort of Greek Garden of Eden. A few swordfish steaks and a couple of Mythos later we thought it was time to head off again. I was back on captain duty by now.  We went down as far as we could but we were told that once you pass the end of Lefkada (on our right) we have to turn back. So we did. We needed to be back by 6:30 and still hadn't got round the other side of the island yet. So we headed back up towards Vathy port where we intended to get around the headland and chug along down to another beach that had been recommended to us.

The sea was getting a bit rougher as we neared the top of the island as all the big ferries and speed boats churn up the sea. Obviously we needed to keep away from getting too close to the shore as it's very rocky.  Mrs Dave told me to get in a little closer to the shore, though, and not sit quite so far out in the sea. All jolly well for her to say that but what she and the others were unaware of was that I had been struggling with the "unresponsive" steering wheel for a while. The more I tried to steer closer to the shore, the more adamant the boat seemed to be to go in a straight line.

As Mrs Dave began to get more agitated that I wasn't keeping closer to the island I had to announce the fact that, "we may have a slight problem here".  By now the steering wheel whizzed around easily either way but absolutely nothing was happening to the outboard motor. Now, as a teacher of some twenty years standing, I have come to realise that should the lesson be observed no form of technology should be used whatsoever.  Be it the laptop, the Interactive Whiteboard or the DVD player, it will go wrong.  At that particular moment (just as panic is setting in) some bright spark will either ask an intelligent question or offer "useful" advice. The question most asked at that time is, "Have you turned it on?" Other than that, whenever I announce such gems as the steering wheel has stopped working, I have noticed a tendency by my nearest and dearest to look at me as though I've told a rather unfunny joke.  A look of disbelief usually follows.  "Try turning it fully round".  Ah! of course, I hadn't been doing that for the last twenty minutes. I immediately turned the wheel both ways all the way round until it wouldn't go any further. Someone suggested that if I turn the engine off and back on it will somehow (magically) "be okay".

It wasn't.

We opened the only panel available to see what was wrong. We did what people tend to do now when their car has broken down.  That is, we looked in, stared, scratched our heads and closed the panel again.  Basically it was an empty space with a few wires in it and a battery.  So Greg jumped over the side to see if anything was wrong.  Like if the pathetic split cane fishing rod he'd bought which broke the first time he tried to use it had caused the float and line had caught up in something (not being too technical for you landlubbers, am I?). No, nothing there either. I did not panic.  I got out my trusty iPhone and, miraculously, it worked.  The man said he'd be out to us in a few minutes. Excellent.

By now, the fact that we were bobbing up and down on the salty sea was causing Mrs Dave to become slightly bilious.  I suddenly realised that fairly soon the car ferry would be about to appear from the mainland port.  It wasn't going to change course for a bunch of tourists who'd parked their little boat in a major shipping lane.

We were rather glad to see the man turn up a few minutes later.  The cable had snapped between the steering wheel and the outboard so it wasn't our fault. Phew.  As he towed us in to the port I spied the car ferry steaming along and passing over the exact space we were in a few minutes earlier. Phew!

After our rather ignominious return to Vathy and we were safely in a taverna drinking a medicinal beer some bright spark suggested that we could have chugged along fine by physically turning the outboard ourselves. A sort of Esprit d'Escalier I guess.

* Despite having a medley of hits being played. However, the discussion on R4's Today this morning with two comedians about how "ropey" the ceremony was suggets that I'm not alone.
** Some of you may be familiar with Apocalypse Now and "never get out of the boat"

antío

It seems a bit quiet around here what with it being summer.  Busy times at the end of the academic year what with D of E and a quick break to Wales. I'm off to find some sun and get completely away from the Olympic madness that seems to have taken everybody over.  It's all gone a bit Bodysnatchers for me - people have even asked me if I've watched any of it! Even Today on Radio 4 seems to only feature it at the moment.

Well, I'll be back next week after a week in the sun on a tiny island in Greece that sounds remarkably like Mevagissy. Cheers!