MERLIN VISITS

The last week has seen a visit from our very good friend Goran and his son Ossi. They came last Tuesday and leave today. It's amazing how much can be fitted into one week! Highlight of his time was last Saturday in London when we went to The Rose public house in London at the invitation of Lottie, Trish's daughter who works there. They had a big street party, which culminated in a drag race, not the kind associated with Santa Pod either!

Some of the costumes were simply breathtaking and as the wine and beer flowed, so did the skirts. Merlin was in his element here, having been nurtured in his early days at the Queens Head, appropriately named, in the Kings Road Chelsea. Determined to become involved in the action, Merlin soon found a friend he could team up with!

Goran and his new friend

THE GENERAL PUBLIC TRANSPORT

Help! I am among the general public again!

We left St. Erth at about midday yesterday. Me, I love traveling by public transport especially if it runs on rails. When I lived in Goteborg I often familiarised myself with the excellent tram system they have there by going the length and breadth of the network during the school holidays. I only just stopped short of collecting the names of the trams as they ground to a halt at intersecting stops. So on returning to this country I was keen to continue in this mode. However as we know, our public transport system leaves a lot to be desired. How delighted I was then to be transported effortlessly down to Cornwall aboard a smooth running Great Western Express. Trouble is, for all it's ease of use over the same journey by car, traveling by train (or bus) has one serious drawback; you are required to rub shoulders with the GP.

On the journey home, the opposite. Mum, a blond young mother with a London accent honed to perfection by being plonked in front of 'Eastenders' from a young age, her sister and grandma, found themselves in charge of another very active youngster. This time however, the mum was more interested in reading 'Celebgossip Weekly' or some other such mag and frequently told the little girl to 'sit down and be quiet'. This on a six hour journey!

So the joys of riding on public transport are not always positive but I think still preferable to the long car journey, cocooned in a metal cannister with only a sleeping passenger for company, or, as I have experienced only too frequently bored and badly behaved children.

So what of our two days down there at the End Of England? We both have really enjoyed it. For those that have been, a visit to Cornwall is like moving temporarily to another country so different is the life down there. True, the GP love to visit and St. Ives was full of them. But there was a really great atmosphere no matter where we went. Even on the very crowded beach yesterday where Fran and I were beginning to hyperventilate due to the proximity of beer belly, tattooed tit and her husband, it was easy to escape the hordes and find oneself in splendid isolation, after just a fifteen minute hike up the cliff face. Call me a snob if you want but when you live in The Home Counties the last thing you want is more of them when you go away.

Having said all of that, it is much preferable to the steaming heat of The Far East where you find yourself stepping over down and outs who look as if they will be truly out by the following day, as you make your way to the restaurant for your evening meal, preferable to the starkness and stone of Malta, or 'Basra' as Liam O'Donnell christened the view across the rooftops and the surly opportunistic rip-off culture that is slowly pervading the islands of The Caribbean and which will soon denude all of them of their individuality.

Our country it seems, still has a great deal to offer, it still has history and a culture which is the envy of many others, it still has cosiness which is as unique as the ales in Ade's fridge. What a pity then someone can't improve the overall 'smarts' of the population. Come on you lot, Eastenders isn't real, what is portrayed there isn't admirable and nothing for you to absorb and develop, TV isn't king and reality game shows are not real. Only Star Trek can manage that!

ANOTHER CORNISH CRACKER

Today was another glorious day. The sun was shining and it was warm enough to find the five of us on the beach at Porthcurno with the rest of the general public. We tarried long enough to eat a picnic lunch before we were off on another Franhike across the cliffs to Logan's Rock where we were afforded a splendid view of the rugged granite coastline up to Lands End a mere two and a half miles away. I could not believe the colour of the water which rivaled any of the seas we had seen in either Malaysia, Malta or the Caribbean. To make things even better the temperature hovered at a completely manageable 25 degrees so much better than the intolerable heights of Kuala Lumpur last spring

One of Fran's photos


Not for Rustan

Is it The Caribbean?

As some readers might already know, 'Top Of The Hill' is the scene of a legendary story. Soon after moving in during this year's ferocious winter, Ade, probably the worst for wear one night, sloped into his bathroom. On auto pilot he reached for his toothbrush and toothpaste. Squeezing the tube, Ade supposed that the lack of paste issuing forth onto his brush was either; a, due to his inebriated and so weakened state, b, a blocked tube, c, lack of paste in the tube he thought to be new. However one option he failed to reckon with was the fact that the toothpaste was frozen! I would like readers to know that I have visited the scene of this occurrence and post the proof, in the form of a photograph, below. Unfortunatley the experience was diluted due to the fact I am here in the summer, but I'll be back!

Top Of The Hill

Scene of The Legend Of The Toothpaste

We finished our day off in St. Ives where we dined at a lovely vegetarian restaurant (there is such a thing Rustan). We journeyed there in a open top bus which reminded me of our last open top bus ride in Malta, a challenge for hemorrhoid sufferers everywhere due to the ancient springs of the bus, it's hard unforgiving seats and the dilapidated state of the Maltese roads. We were soon back at 'Top Of The Hill' enjoying an excellent nightcap in great company.

CATCH UP

It's been a long time since my last entry on this blog but there has been plenty of things to write about but not the time. However we find ourselves right now, comfortably ensconced in the charming Cornish Cottage owned by our good friends Fran and Ade. Needless to say we are about as far west as we could be, from the high ground that surrounds the cottage one can see Penzance, in the westerly distance, across what was today, thanks to a sudden turnaround in the weather, a sun kissed and sparkling Atlantic Ocean.

But let's wind the clock back a tad. At the last entry the World Cup was about to start and despite what many thought was a disappointing competition, I was thoroughly entertained by it all, right up to the end when Spain emerged victors and sunk without trace the best of my pre-tournament bets, that being the Dutch to win at 10-1. From the whole four weeks of cut and thrust, I emerged with a miserly £8, This has since been turned into a rather fortuitous £189 thanks to a each way treble coming home two weekends ago. Anyway, I digress.

Good old Rustan...here again

Halfway through the World Cup we had the annual Swengland Presentation afternoon. The blisteringly hot June weather meant that this year, as last, the afternoon was blessed by sunshine into the late evening. Rustan was in attendance and not only presented the awards but was the main man in the production of a Swedish Midsummer table, featuring all the delicacies associated with the time of year in his homeland. This included the Janssons Frestelse cooked properly, unlike Christmas when he was forced to use the highly salty British anchovies. This time he brought his own from Sweden. It disappeared without trace.

Guess who is the new Champion

I then paid a visit to an old familiar place. I wonder if some of you blog readers will recognise it from these two photos?

Look familiar?

And this??

Another real treat before the journey to Cornwall, was a trip to North London to go behind the scenes at White Hart Lane. The guided stadium tour is something I have wanted to do for ages and Trish and I joined the other fans at two in The Megastore to meet our genial host for the afternoon. I really enjoyed it of course. We eventually made our way, via the dressing rooms where the last plunge bath in The Premiership resides, soon to be in the Wembley museum, out onto the pitch. Of course last season we had three seats in the section of the ground reserved for the privileged members of 'The Captain's Club' which were right next to the tunnel. This information I imparted to our host who regarded the information as if coming from a habitual liar. Trish and I went and sat in our old seats, probably for the last time.

Look what I found in the trophy cabinet

Me and a really old cock.

My hero!

The school term lurched slowly to it's conclusion at the end of July and our thoughts turned towards the summer vacation. This year we have decided to spend it at home, taking trips away to see friends and family. So that's how this week, we find ourselves here.

Cornwall coastline

We took the train down from Paddington at midday yesterday and arrived six hours later in St. Erth met by Fran, Ade and son Joe. Cornwall has always been one of my favourite places, ever since my first visit here in the mid eighties with Goran, Ulf and Rob. The haze of that trip is still etched upon my mind. Today we have visited the Atlantic coast at Godrevy and marveled at the rollers crashing in on the Cornish beach which reminded me of the magnificent rollers from the Pacific that I saw tumbling in on the Sunshine Coast in Australia when I visited Jim a couple of years ago. It really was a magnificent sight. We also were able to see seals playing in the surf and rocky coves in crystal clear waters, rivaling that of the Caribbean this time last year.

Ade's in heaven

Sunshine Copast? No, Cornwall

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Fran, Ade and Joe moved down here in December last year and it is an idyllic retreat, as different from the drab, neolithic streets of Luton as it is possible to imagine. Built over 150 years ago it is picture perfect with a view of the sparkling Atlantic from the well stocked garden at the side of the house, a giant, magnificent, eucalyptus tree taking pride of place. Fran is at home here, it long being her dream to move to this area, a dream which unlike so many other people, she has realised. Ade and Jo, master of the music and filming, are also likewise happy, enjoying the long, steep, stamina building walks in the surrounding countryside. Ade now has a well stocked fridge sporting ales with typical eccentric English names such as 'Cornish Knocker',' Betty Stogs' and Doom Bar. He too is in his 'alement'. How marvelous it is to see happy people, friends who are enjoying life to the full it seems, in a beautiful part of this often and deservedly maligned country. Surrounded by green hills, fabulous views and unspoilt nature, they are now contented and fulfilled.

Good pubs, great beer, bigger gut.

HERE WE GO AGAIN

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Like it or loathe it, and I love it, the Football World Cup is with us again. The build up has been relentless and once again English flags and pennants have sprung up all over the place willing our nation, usually nothing to be proud of, to step up to the plate and this time...just this time, do us proud. The inclusion of five Spurs players this time round can only be good of course, my boys will be fresh from an inspiring season in the league and ready to continue their form for their nation.

However, I was thinking last night, what can I do for my country, as John Fitzgerald Kennedy once famously said. The answer to this was easy. So on my way back through Flitwick I stopped at my friendly branch of Joe Coral. I reckon our four main rivals for the cup this year are, in no particular order, Spain, Brazil, Argentina and Holland. I placed bets on all of them, hoping the curse of Scaley, so recently felt by Everton, Aston Villa and Manchester City in the Premier League race for fourth place, won as we know by Super Spurs, would strike again. I walked from the shop with a smug look on my face. That'll teach them to be favourites. I actually got 10-1 on the Dutch!

Of course I am slightly worried still. Against my better judgement I failed to include The Germans in my death spread bet. As I heard someone say yesterday,'never discount the Germans'. I might get back to Corals tomorrow........

The greatest German ever!

Here he is in better colours

SWEDEN AGAIN

OK OK I know, no posts for a while but we have had a busy time and a great five days in my favourite country good old SWEDEN. Some time ago Rustan fixed tickets to see Eric Clapton and Stevie Winwood in Malmo on 31st. May. So we thought we would make a real trip of it and go for a few days extra. The weather was great for the first few days and we made the most of it sitting out at street cafes, watching the world go by with our good friends.

Rustan avoids sunburn. May the force be with you my friend

An added bonus was a lovely invitation to spend a day in Bastad with friends Anna and Anders which is on the way to Malmo. So on Sunday off we went to Anna's family summer house.

Anders, barbie man

The weather was pretty good most of the time and we had a great tour of the beautiful quiet area where their summer cottage lies, right by the sea. Anna and Anders treated us to a fab Swedish meal, straight off the barbie...

SKOL!

We were soon off to Malmo for the concert. I went expecting to be underwhelmed but Eric and Stevie played a great set, plenty of old Traffic favourites and a couple of Blind Faith and Cream too. He also played some acoustic songs, the best of which was Layla......

And then an absolutely stonking version of Jimi Hendrix's Voodoo Chile (Slight Return) which of course Stevie played on way back in the 60's. To finish they exceeded even this with one of my favourite Traffic tunes 'Dear Mr. Fantasy' WOW. Thanks to Rustan for organising the trip. Well done mate.

Voodoo Chile

THE ROAD GOES ON

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A totally forgettable Friday just happened. I had an interview. Lucrative job. £270 a week, one day's work a week, 39 weeks a year. Lovely. BUT of course there was an interview. My track record at interviews is not good. Originally, I was given to understand the job was a 'shoe in' but of course other people applied for it. Trouble was, it was at the place I was already working. This means the interview was taking place in front of three people I already knew, one of them well, as a friend and fellow Spurs fan.

It didn't go well. I had the feeling a condemned man must have when he ascends the steps to the gallows, hangman's noose dangling in the wind before him. I was first up to do my presentation which I spent a beautifully sunny Thursday preparing. 'Yours will be the presentation by which will will judge all others' informed my friend David as I prepared my ten minutes of what I thought would be informative diatribe. 'No pressure then' I muttered to myself. Ten minutes later I had finished and was lead away from the room still trying to part my tongue from the roof of my mouth.

Written test next. Spent about 30 minutes writing incisively feeling clever because i, unlike the other witless candidates in the room with me, I had the foresight to bring my netbook and could raise pertinant quotes from the internet. Take that you fuckwits! Scribble scribble the bullshit flowed like sludge.

Next up the actual interview. God knows how I hate it, especially sitting in front of three people you already work with. I struggled through like a dope on a rope most of the time, words failing to express the thought in my brain as if I had been drugged with some mysterious serum. It didn't help that David was sitting at the table drinking coffee that someone had brought him in a West Ham mug! Knackered, I stumbled from the room as the next candidate, tipped by my boss John Williams as hot favourite for the post (thanks mate),cheerily went the other way I ignored her, climbed into the car and went home.

I spent the night in Luton at Trish's house drinking copious amounts of vodka and tonic, eating fish and chips and waiting for the call confirming that yet again I had fallen foul of the interview. My mobile rang but I let it go to voicemail. After dinner I retrieved the message. It was David asking me to call him back. His voice had the tone of a judge who had just donned the black cap and was about to deliver the bad news. And so it proved.

When I woke this morning the sun was streaming in through the blinds. A beautiful spring day was outside. It wasn't long before I was cycling through the Bedfordshire countryside on my way home. As I approached my village I looked to my left and saw great swathes of yellow mustard stetching as far as the eye could see, with the ridge houses perched atop the horizon. I stopped and took a couple of pictures and listened to the hidden skylarks sing and the peace of the nature. Suddenly Friday didn't really matter anymore.

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