Yes! For the whole day too, I might add. And 10 degrees. Luxury. In my day, we didn't have sun. We had to make do with a 30 watt lightbulb.
I took the fullest advantage of it (after sleeping in, of course) and headed south through the Mendips. Bigger hills out that way, and I think I can now trace a nice route out to Wells and back that doesn't go via the muddiest roads in Christendom. A very nice 110 km, but it took me 20 minutes of scrubbing at a petrol station to uncake the mud.
Re: the Ashes. Are the Aussies headed for a 5-0 whitewash of the gallant English lads? England didn't make a great impact in Melbourne. To add insult to GBH, their bowling plans were leaked to the media during the match. How shocking. Although, 'get the bloke in front of the stumps out' was perhaps not the greatest revelation for the Australian team.
I've realised that I have the necessary time, creative energy, coffee and beer to restart writing my book, which I commenced about three years ago. I aim to make it even funnier than Thomas Hardy's great comic work, Jude the Obscure. So I hope it will be a best seller. Failing that (and more than likely), it will make a handy door wedge. Order your copy now. No offer too big refused.
23500 km for the year. About 4000 fewer km than last year, but that's OK. Mission accomplished and all that.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
A quiet Christmas
Be warned: you are being monitored by CCTV on this blog.
On December 25, 2006, Pete and I indulged in what was possibly the quietest Christmas ever. Wishing to get a bloody long way away from the madding crowd, we enjoyed the enriching experience that is Christmas TV, a chilly bike ride, and beer. Or two.
The ride was interesting. We headed east along the Thames, past Greenwich and up to the Thames barrier at Woolwich. The barrier, as I found out later, is to enable the Empress of Arachnos to take over the world in Dr Who. Aside: I finally saw the new Dr Who and as one would hope, it's a lot better than its spinoff series, Torchwood.
We crossed under the river at the Woolwich foot tunnel and explored the north side, starting near City Airport. This is potentially a useful airport, albeit a small one. Unfortunately, they don't fly anywhere I want to go just yet. It's not too hard to get too, and a lot easier than Heathrow, Stansted, Gatwick, or Luton.
We cruised through fairly deserted streets until we came to Canary Wharf, which was even more deserted. The security guards waved us through ("you can go about your business") and we were let loose. The place is basically a concentration of big financial institutions and looks a bit like La Defence in Paris, except nicer. I realise that's not saying much. There was almost no-one there, apart from a few brave tourists. It's cool seeing London so quiet, especially this bit.
There were a few more tourists near the city proper, but nothing like usual. We rode through St Katharine docks and admired a ridiculously sized yacht called Björn that was one of many moored there. It looked like a noice place to live, and it had the advantage of being next to the Tower of London. Handy all amenities and stuff like that.
We took the Tower Bridge back over the Thames and went along the south side of the river past Shad Thames - a newish and trendy restaurant/bar spotte. You find in London that the suburbs change very rapidly, depending a bit on how close you are to the centre and to the river. It can be quite upmarket one minute, and the next minute you are in a fairly rundown council housing estate. There's very little uniformity and the planning seems to be very localised. There's nothing really wrong with that; it's just a little odd sometimes. If you go to the other extreme, you end up with something like Canberra, which is lacking in soul and character.
Unfortunately, all the pubs that we'd spotted that were open were closed by the time we went out later on. Not really surprising, given that it was Christmas day, but it meant that we had to rely on our own stocks of ale. Fortunately, we had found an off-licence to replenish them during the day, or it would have been a dry Christmas.
A savage national bike route
Boxing Day: Repeat above, expect that Pete was sick so I went north on me own. I followed the Lea canal, which unfortunately was marked as a National Bike Route. There wasn't so much dirt or mud, but there were some nasty sections of cobbles. One was only maybe 30m long, but it had lateral cobbled ridges all the way along - sort of like a cattle grid for cyclists. I hit it at 30 km/h and was nearly thrown off the bike! I escaped with a very sore back. Damn these national bike routes. Damn them all.
The canal itself was interesting though. There were boats going up and down them and all the locks were manual jobs. There were also a lot of deaf pedestrians. I need a bell and possibly a handlebar mounted BB gun.
The pubs were open on Boxing Day, so Pete and I went to the Ship and Whale for a romantic pint and a feed. Hell, we were even offered candles by the sympathetic bar staff :-) Still, we managed to solve at least a few of the world's problems in a couple of hours. Mainly the sporting world. It's amazing what beer can do!
Media coverage
TV was high on the agenda during the Christmas break.
Firstly, I learned via teletext that James Brown is Dead (For a Real Player audio version, click here). And this time it's not by that legendary Belgian band, L.A. Style, aka Denzil Slemming. Mijnheer Slemming has obviously been waiting 15 years for the Godfather of Soul to croak so he can reap the massive royalties from a revival of this song.
Secondly, we managed to watch at least five episodes of Pete's Christmas present: Yes, Minister. He has seven DVDs and therefore hours of amusement. It's still excellent.
Thirdly, we also managed to watch (at least in part) Van Helsing, Monsters Inc., Bugsy Malone, Casper the Ghost, Monkey Business, Harlem Nights and far too much Christmas music television. We saw none of the Ashes. Go Warne.
The printed word
Books I am now reading, all at once, in any particular order:
Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail by Hunter S. Thompson. Much longer but not as good as Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, maybe because he was off the heinous drugs. Still, it's an off-beat look at the 1972 US presidential election.
The Elephant Vanishes by Haruki Murakami. A collection of short stories by this Japanese author. A little surreal, and quite readable.
Nightwatch by Terry Pratchett. Another in his excellent Discworld series. I realised only recently that Ankh-Morpork was closely modelled on London (duh). That is borne out by the map in the front of the book.
Helen Garner and the Meaning of Everything by Alex Jones, who happens to be my uncle. I've only just started it, but I like it a lot so far. It's very funny, and even more so when you know the family.
Sun watch
I saw the sun for five minutes today, on a train somewhere between Didcot and Swindon. I'm not sure what the sun was doing catching the train, but it was obviously taking advantage of First Great Western's top notch service.
So since December 18, 2006 and December 27 (that's nine days), I have seen 5 minutes of sun. I read that you need sun for your wellbeing, and I can see that there is a direct link between the sun, my wellbeing, and TV watched over the Christmas period.
Fortunately, I have a set top box now (thanks Pete) so I can get freeview digital TV in 2010, when the switchover happens in Bath. What a day that will be.
Back to First Great Western. I read today that Johnny Depp is considering moving to Bath. He is apparently a regular at many of the town's nite spots and has stayed at the Royal Crescent Hotel. My source was FGW's Reach magazine, and I trust it implicitly.
Off to Stockholm on Friday. I'll remember to take my Radcliffe camera.
On December 25, 2006, Pete and I indulged in what was possibly the quietest Christmas ever. Wishing to get a bloody long way away from the madding crowd, we enjoyed the enriching experience that is Christmas TV, a chilly bike ride, and beer. Or two.
The ride was interesting. We headed east along the Thames, past Greenwich and up to the Thames barrier at Woolwich. The barrier, as I found out later, is to enable the Empress of Arachnos to take over the world in Dr Who. Aside: I finally saw the new Dr Who and as one would hope, it's a lot better than its spinoff series, Torchwood.
We crossed under the river at the Woolwich foot tunnel and explored the north side, starting near City Airport. This is potentially a useful airport, albeit a small one. Unfortunately, they don't fly anywhere I want to go just yet. It's not too hard to get too, and a lot easier than Heathrow, Stansted, Gatwick, or Luton.
We cruised through fairly deserted streets until we came to Canary Wharf, which was even more deserted. The security guards waved us through ("you can go about your business") and we were let loose. The place is basically a concentration of big financial institutions and looks a bit like La Defence in Paris, except nicer. I realise that's not saying much. There was almost no-one there, apart from a few brave tourists. It's cool seeing London so quiet, especially this bit.
There were a few more tourists near the city proper, but nothing like usual. We rode through St Katharine docks and admired a ridiculously sized yacht called Björn that was one of many moored there. It looked like a noice place to live, and it had the advantage of being next to the Tower of London. Handy all amenities and stuff like that.
We took the Tower Bridge back over the Thames and went along the south side of the river past Shad Thames - a newish and trendy restaurant/bar spotte. You find in London that the suburbs change very rapidly, depending a bit on how close you are to the centre and to the river. It can be quite upmarket one minute, and the next minute you are in a fairly rundown council housing estate. There's very little uniformity and the planning seems to be very localised. There's nothing really wrong with that; it's just a little odd sometimes. If you go to the other extreme, you end up with something like Canberra, which is lacking in soul and character.
Unfortunately, all the pubs that we'd spotted that were open were closed by the time we went out later on. Not really surprising, given that it was Christmas day, but it meant that we had to rely on our own stocks of ale. Fortunately, we had found an off-licence to replenish them during the day, or it would have been a dry Christmas.
A savage national bike route
Boxing Day: Repeat above, expect that Pete was sick so I went north on me own. I followed the Lea canal, which unfortunately was marked as a National Bike Route. There wasn't so much dirt or mud, but there were some nasty sections of cobbles. One was only maybe 30m long, but it had lateral cobbled ridges all the way along - sort of like a cattle grid for cyclists. I hit it at 30 km/h and was nearly thrown off the bike! I escaped with a very sore back. Damn these national bike routes. Damn them all.
The canal itself was interesting though. There were boats going up and down them and all the locks were manual jobs. There were also a lot of deaf pedestrians. I need a bell and possibly a handlebar mounted BB gun.
The pubs were open on Boxing Day, so Pete and I went to the Ship and Whale for a romantic pint and a feed. Hell, we were even offered candles by the sympathetic bar staff :-) Still, we managed to solve at least a few of the world's problems in a couple of hours. Mainly the sporting world. It's amazing what beer can do!
Media coverage
TV was high on the agenda during the Christmas break.
Firstly, I learned via teletext that James Brown is Dead (For a Real Player audio version, click here). And this time it's not by that legendary Belgian band, L.A. Style, aka Denzil Slemming. Mijnheer Slemming has obviously been waiting 15 years for the Godfather of Soul to croak so he can reap the massive royalties from a revival of this song.
Secondly, we managed to watch at least five episodes of Pete's Christmas present: Yes, Minister. He has seven DVDs and therefore hours of amusement. It's still excellent.
Thirdly, we also managed to watch (at least in part) Van Helsing, Monsters Inc., Bugsy Malone, Casper the Ghost, Monkey Business, Harlem Nights and far too much Christmas music television. We saw none of the Ashes. Go Warne.
The printed word
Books I am now reading, all at once, in any particular order:
Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail by Hunter S. Thompson. Much longer but not as good as Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, maybe because he was off the heinous drugs. Still, it's an off-beat look at the 1972 US presidential election.
The Elephant Vanishes by Haruki Murakami. A collection of short stories by this Japanese author. A little surreal, and quite readable.
Nightwatch by Terry Pratchett. Another in his excellent Discworld series. I realised only recently that Ankh-Morpork was closely modelled on London (duh). That is borne out by the map in the front of the book.
Helen Garner and the Meaning of Everything by Alex Jones, who happens to be my uncle. I've only just started it, but I like it a lot so far. It's very funny, and even more so when you know the family.
Sun watch
I saw the sun for five minutes today, on a train somewhere between Didcot and Swindon. I'm not sure what the sun was doing catching the train, but it was obviously taking advantage of First Great Western's top notch service.
So since December 18, 2006 and December 27 (that's nine days), I have seen 5 minutes of sun. I read that you need sun for your wellbeing, and I can see that there is a direct link between the sun, my wellbeing, and TV watched over the Christmas period.
Fortunately, I have a set top box now (thanks Pete) so I can get freeview digital TV in 2010, when the switchover happens in Bath. What a day that will be.
Back to First Great Western. I read today that Johnny Depp is considering moving to Bath. He is apparently a regular at many of the town's nite spots and has stayed at the Royal Crescent Hotel. My source was FGW's Reach magazine, and I trust it implicitly.
Off to Stockholm on Friday. I'll remember to take my Radcliffe camera.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Christmas party #4
Here's a novelty: writing a blog in a cafe. Fopp is the go and it's Christmas Eve.
I can't remember the last time I saw the sun. It was probably at our Christmas in December. Since then, the temps have plummeted and it's been dense fog every day. So much so that there have been problems at Heathrow airport (cue Monty Python song about baggage retrieval). It's meant to clear a bit overnight, so I hope that Lucy gets away to Oz on Sunday.
Having survived the bike group's Christmas excursion along the towpath, I enjoyed my day off and slept in a tad, before going out for a 100 km spin to exorcise the hangover. I wore everything, including my day-glo green life preserver top - important when visibility is down to 4.8cm. It was quite chilly again and there was frost everywhere. It almost looked like it had been snowing overnight, and I quite enjoyed taking the back way up Bannerdown away from what little traffic there was.
I stuck to smallish roads and turned west towards the coast. Once I got down off the Cotswolds, the fog was merely light mist, and I made it all the way to the Severn bridge. Almost into Wales! I'll plan a proper trip there soon, with the intent to visit Llangiby, the home town of great-uncle(?) Rhys Jones. I came back along the bike path around Bristol, which was definitely the safest option.
Gone for a Burton
The theme for the company Christmas party was "apres ski or black tie". I had neither, so I went into town and lashed out 100 quid on something passable at Burtons. The salesman was quite absorbed, but I managed to distract him for long enough to acquire the necessary garments. Sorted!
Those going to the Christmas party met in the Bath coach park, where we were bused out to Bristol Temple Meads. The gig was in a big museum next to the station, and it was surprisingly warm for a hall of that size. I was seriously impressed by the number of people there. It wasn't packed, but there were several hundred of us. There was a stage, dance floor with resident DJ, dodgem cars(!)...and free alcohol. The proof is trivial and is left as an exercise for the reader, but I will provide some more elucidation.
I came with North, from MBUK, who had dressed up as "apres ski". He had a beanie, goggles and a jumper that looked like it was right out of the Wham! song Last Christmas. It was funny, because he's from Leeds and you'd never pick him to wear a jumper like that. Quite a few of the other MBUK boys had got there minutes before us, and were already pissed after having some 'warmups' at Doddy's place.
All of us sat at a table, and got the formalities over with fairly quickly. If you asked Doddy to get a beer for you, he would return with a beer plus a vodka/Red Bull. Holy crap, there could only be one result from that, but at least death would be swift. My workmate Matt Cole was on the program and had to retire hurt at about 10:30, after a) trying to keep up with Doddy and b) getting hit by a Welsh git half his size. He is 6'5 and also a Welsh git, but a nice one.
We had several gos on the Dodgems, after which I was not entirely convinced of the driving skills of any of my colleagues. Still, if you can't enjoy a good head-on there, where can you enjoy it?
Absinthe friends
I'd been looking for the boys from Procycling - Pete, Ellis, Dan and Paul - who said they were coming up from London. Finally, I found them at about 11 and caught up with the goss. They've been working pretty hard up until Christmas and after the break, have about three days to get another mag out in the New Year. I wish them luck.
There were a couple of the eds from Junior magazine at the Procycling table, and both turned out to be Australian. I only found out this after warning them off the fine Australian table wine that had been supplied in both red and white varietals. I had inspected the bottles earlier in the night, and hadn't been able to discern a date on either of them. Be very afraid.
I was able to convince one of them (Suzanne) that she should not be drinking something that could well have been bottled that very morning. She saw the wisdom in that and returned with a tray full of shots of absinthe and tequila. Oh god. But it was the lesser of two evils, and we also had water to go with it, most of which ended up on the table. I think I decided to switch to water at that particular juncture.
We got out of the museum at about 1:30, and were driven back to the Holiday Inn in Bath, where the London employees were being put up. I chatted to Paul Godfrey in the bar until about 4am - still drinking water - and finally headed off into the freezing fog in the direction of home.
It was, for all intents and purposes, a good night. I had a sore head the next day, but nothing that another 60 km didn't fix.
Postscript
Wow, that was 900 words in 40 minutes and one large cappuccino. Had I written my thesis this quickly, I would have finished it in about a week and a half. Speaking of completed theses, hearty congrats to mum for becoming the second Dr J Jones! I am now Dr J Jones the Younger.
Postscript #2
The new Bond flick, Casino Royale, is tops.
I can't remember the last time I saw the sun. It was probably at our Christmas in December. Since then, the temps have plummeted and it's been dense fog every day. So much so that there have been problems at Heathrow airport (cue Monty Python song about baggage retrieval). It's meant to clear a bit overnight, so I hope that Lucy gets away to Oz on Sunday.
Having survived the bike group's Christmas excursion along the towpath, I enjoyed my day off and slept in a tad, before going out for a 100 km spin to exorcise the hangover. I wore everything, including my day-glo green life preserver top - important when visibility is down to 4.8cm. It was quite chilly again and there was frost everywhere. It almost looked like it had been snowing overnight, and I quite enjoyed taking the back way up Bannerdown away from what little traffic there was.
I stuck to smallish roads and turned west towards the coast. Once I got down off the Cotswolds, the fog was merely light mist, and I made it all the way to the Severn bridge. Almost into Wales! I'll plan a proper trip there soon, with the intent to visit Llangiby, the home town of great-uncle(?) Rhys Jones. I came back along the bike path around Bristol, which was definitely the safest option.
Gone for a Burton
The theme for the company Christmas party was "apres ski or black tie". I had neither, so I went into town and lashed out 100 quid on something passable at Burtons. The salesman was quite absorbed, but I managed to distract him for long enough to acquire the necessary garments. Sorted!
Those going to the Christmas party met in the Bath coach park, where we were bused out to Bristol Temple Meads. The gig was in a big museum next to the station, and it was surprisingly warm for a hall of that size. I was seriously impressed by the number of people there. It wasn't packed, but there were several hundred of us. There was a stage, dance floor with resident DJ, dodgem cars(!)...and free alcohol. The proof is trivial and is left as an exercise for the reader, but I will provide some more elucidation.
I came with North, from MBUK, who had dressed up as "apres ski". He had a beanie, goggles and a jumper that looked like it was right out of the Wham! song Last Christmas. It was funny, because he's from Leeds and you'd never pick him to wear a jumper like that. Quite a few of the other MBUK boys had got there minutes before us, and were already pissed after having some 'warmups' at Doddy's place.
All of us sat at a table, and got the formalities over with fairly quickly. If you asked Doddy to get a beer for you, he would return with a beer plus a vodka/Red Bull. Holy crap, there could only be one result from that, but at least death would be swift. My workmate Matt Cole was on the program and had to retire hurt at about 10:30, after a) trying to keep up with Doddy and b) getting hit by a Welsh git half his size. He is 6'5 and also a Welsh git, but a nice one.
We had several gos on the Dodgems, after which I was not entirely convinced of the driving skills of any of my colleagues. Still, if you can't enjoy a good head-on there, where can you enjoy it?
Absinthe friends
I'd been looking for the boys from Procycling - Pete, Ellis, Dan and Paul - who said they were coming up from London. Finally, I found them at about 11 and caught up with the goss. They've been working pretty hard up until Christmas and after the break, have about three days to get another mag out in the New Year. I wish them luck.
There were a couple of the eds from Junior magazine at the Procycling table, and both turned out to be Australian. I only found out this after warning them off the fine Australian table wine that had been supplied in both red and white varietals. I had inspected the bottles earlier in the night, and hadn't been able to discern a date on either of them. Be very afraid.
I was able to convince one of them (Suzanne) that she should not be drinking something that could well have been bottled that very morning. She saw the wisdom in that and returned with a tray full of shots of absinthe and tequila. Oh god. But it was the lesser of two evils, and we also had water to go with it, most of which ended up on the table. I think I decided to switch to water at that particular juncture.
We got out of the museum at about 1:30, and were driven back to the Holiday Inn in Bath, where the London employees were being put up. I chatted to Paul Godfrey in the bar until about 4am - still drinking water - and finally headed off into the freezing fog in the direction of home.
It was, for all intents and purposes, a good night. I had a sore head the next day, but nothing that another 60 km didn't fix.
Postscript
Wow, that was 900 words in 40 minutes and one large cappuccino. Had I written my thesis this quickly, I would have finished it in about a week and a half. Speaking of completed theses, hearty congrats to mum for becoming the second Dr J Jones! I am now Dr J Jones the Younger.
Postscript #2
The new Bond flick, Casino Royale, is tops.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Christmas in December in December
Night falls quickly in the tropics© Pete Boyd
Following on from the immensely popular "Christmas in July", certain British-based members of the Jones clan decided to hold a Christmas in December...in December! We had to have it on the 17th, because Lucy is gwine back to Orstraya over Christmas. But we made it a suitably festive occasion.
Saturday involved going to Borough Market and buying key ingredients. I can vouch that they do have proper coffee there at the Monmouth stall. A double espresso does actually have two shots and will not cure insomnia. We also discovered some excellent fudge: sea salt and caramel sounds a bit strange, but it's damned nice. In order to restore balance, we had a croissant that purported to be fresh, but I suspect that meant it was at the time of the last ice age.
The real reason we went to Borough was to procure a 5kg (6kg with bits) goose from the poultry shop. It was a fairly solid undertaking, but I managed to fit it into my backpack. Five kilos might sound a lot for five people, but you'd be surprised how far it doesn't go after you siphon off two bowls of fat. After Christmas lunch on Sunday, we were left with approximately one goose leg and the awful prospect of a one leg goose curry.
Random note: while shopping at Tesco's, I chanced upon a can of French table wine. I bought it for £1.20, which was surely overpriced. Unfortunately when we got it home, we found it was past its use-by date: December '05. It's obviously a red hot seller at Tesco's. But it should really be illegal to even think about selling French table wine in a can.
Saturday evening, we visited Cousin Polly and her daughter Eva, who we worked out is only just a cousin. Polly's friend Rachel was also there. We consumed a modicum of wine, a hell of a lot of Moroccan food, and watched Eva getting mauled by her pet panda. I even saw Cousin Essie for about 30 seconds (she's another person I haven't seen for about 10 years).
Eva is mauled by her pet panda© Pete Boyd
L to R: Rachel, Polly, Lucy, Pete, Ant© Jeff Jones
Ant and I are in paroxysms after reading a Christmas cracker joke© Pete Boyd
The panda turns its attentions to Ant© Pete Boyd
"10 mile run" was often mentioned, but I contented myself with a 35 km ride along the Thames on Sunday morning. I went east, through a lot of docklands, and ended up somewhere near Woolwich. Interesting ride, and bloody cold. In fact, the weather at the moment has officially reached "bastard cold" status, with temps hovering just above zero and fog pervading. It's dark until shortly after 8am and around 4pm, and merely dim the rest of the time. Still, on "Christmas Day", we had a nice blue sky and it was pleasant to stay indoors and eat silly amounts of food.
For Christmas, we had a party of five: Lucy, Pete, Ant, Lucy's friend Lesley and moi. After ingesting the goose, we didn't feel so energetic. But the reality of Home Alone II: Lost in New York was too much to bear, and we watched Shaun of the Dead and then a Jackie Chan flick. A perfect Christmas, really.
The Christmas table© Pete Boyd
Lucy in zer kitchen© Pete Boyd
Ready to devour the blinis and champers© Jeff Jones
The Christmas © Jeff Jones
Your goose is cooked...© Pete Boyd
Ready to get into some serious goose action© Pete Boyd
Ant being festive© Pete Boyd
Lesley being festive© Jeff Jones
Merrie Pete© Jeff Jones
The puddin' is alight!© Pete Boyd
Apres unwrapping© Jeff Jones
Luce and Pete© Jeff Jones
Ant in recovery mode© Pete Boyd
After recovering from overeating, I then sprinted through a fairly quiet London to get the 10pm train back to Bath. Why do they always put the guard's van on the other end of the train?
This week I need to negotiate two more Christmas parties. Wednesday is the bike group's lunch at the Lock Inn in Bradford-on-Avon. We'll ride up the towpath in the fog, have lunch and not get too pissed, then ride home in the dark. It's ok if you've got good lights.
Thursday is the company Christmas party in Bristol. That could be interesting, as we get bus transport to and from the venue. Hell, even some of the folks from London are coming. Future employs around 1000 people, so it will be a fairly big affair.
I have wisely taken both Thursday and Friday off, so it'll be nearly two weeks holiday as of tomorrow. Planned visits: London and Stockholm (for NY).
Christmas party #3
I will go on the record again and say that it's bastard cold. Wednesday morning: 1 degree and dense fog in warm Bath. It was much colder once you got outside the confines of the town.
About 15 of us rode up to Bradford-on-Avon via the towpath, and it was definitely cold, muddy and foggy. But also beautiful in that cold, muddy and foggy kind of way. My tiny hands were quite frozen by the time we reached the Crew Guns, which is only about 2 miles from Bradford. It's a nice old pub, but not that easy to get to. We all had a restorative there, and I went with the mulled wine because it was actually hot, and surprisingly drinkable. Well, it didn't taste like it had come out of a can...
Lunch was at the Lock Inn - another charming pub, with bits of old and new bike memorabilia on the walls and a cosy atmosphere. The Gary Jules version of Mad World was playing when we entered. I like the song, and it has been running through my head a bit of late.
We were all squeezed onto a canal boat, which was thankfully well heated. Creamy garlic mushrooms, roast beef, mashed potato and Yorkshire pudding were all on the menu, washed down with several pints of Stella. Those closest to Doddy became the most inebriated over time. It felt very festive and it was a perfect day for tucking into a fairly substantial Christmas lunch.
We were a merrie olde bunch by the time we left to go back at around 6:30. By this time, it was pitch black and most of us had never ridden off road, in the dark, in the fog, next to a canal before. Luckily we weren't totally tanked and made good use of our lights to navigate the 2 miles back to the Crew Guns. Yes, we could even ride in a straight line. Another mulled wine for good measure, then we pushed onto the George, which was on the canal but much closer to Bath. I can tell you that it was all a surreal (and cold!) experience.
We still had eight of us left by the time we got back to the Bell in Bath. That was almost as surreal as the canal trip. There was a band playing and the place was packed. We looked rather odd in very muddy cycling kit, but it didn't matter too much except for the people who tried to squeeze past us. Plenty of mud to go around.
It was a lot of fun. Now I need a tux for tomorrow.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
On the move
I've moved house for the fifth time this year, and am now in a 'cosy' 1 br flat on the top floor of a row of Georgian houses. That's not a particularly precise location in Bath, I know. By cosy, I mean it's designed with dwarves in mind. My head hurts.
So far, I've managed to annoy my downstairs neighbours twice in less than a day. That's gotta be a record. I could annoy them more by having a house warming. I'm seriously considering doing that because the space heater in my front room doesn't work, and it's winter. If I burn my brand new DVD player, I should be able to keep warm for a few more hours, but I'll probably drop ash on my neighbours' carpet.
It's either that or the subwoofer. Maybe I could burn that too. I won't burn my newly acquired coffee maker though. That would be foolish.
The handy thing about this flat is that it's right opposite Bath CC's meeting point on Sunday morning. I went out with them today and it wasn't quite as disorganised as usual. We went to a cafe in Calne that opened especially for us. Nice, although they didn't know what raisin toast was, so I had a tea cake. It started raining on the way back, which made it extra fun. I'm now enjoying the descents with sticky tyres on. Whee!
It has to be said that I've seen better weather in my time. A tornado wiped out a bit of NW London the other day, for example. Most days, it's not actually raining in the morning, but the roads are always wet from the night before. Then we get violent showers during the day, followed by sunny breaks. It's similar to Belgian weather, but it seems even windier and more variable if that's possible.
On the plus side (there's always a plus side), I've found a second place that serves good coffee in Bath. Fopp, which is conviently situated almost directly below Westgate House, where we seem to be spending a lot of time. It's just the thing for a debrief. It's hard to spot, because it's a book/CD shop at street level. You have to go downstairs to a semi-art gallery where the coffee shop is, and you can browse the semi-art. It's a bit spacious, in a semi-art gallery sort of way, but the cappucino has a nice, creamy froth.
I also survived Future's company forum. That was no mean feat, because after the rah-rah and Q&A, there were free drinks at the Slug and Lettuce. It was only until 8:30pm, but we managed to 'order' enough rounds to see us through until midnight. Quite easily, in fact. Kudos to Andrew Doddy from MBUK for his prescience.
Day 3
Times are tough. I still haven't got the internet at home, or even a phone. But things aren't all grim, because the space heater in the front room started working, even though I turned it off at the wall and turned all the settings down to minimum. Very spooky. That means I can stop burning DVD players, because they are not very warming. The neighbours will be happier.
I've started reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, by Hunter S. Thompson. I can say that doing the Tour de France as a journalist isn't quite like that, but some things come close. Next time I go, I'll get an attorney.
Weather still poor. I can't believe I set out for a 40 km ride this morning in the dark and the rain. It was just a cruise up and down the bike path to Bristol, so at least I didn't have to deal with traffic or hills. I'm beginning to think I have lost the plot. If indeed I ever had it.
I had an 'espresso' from the free vending machine on our floor today. Bad idea, and proof of the above observation.
Random thought, but not a particularly deep one: There's still a cultural difference here compared to Oz, but I don't actually feel like a foreigner any more. One in ten Brits supposedly lives abroad, with most of them moving to Australia. What do I count as? Ah, it's in the fine print at the bottom of the contract for my soul: "Certified loony".
Tuesday
Progress has been made, although one shouldn't use the passive voice. I have a phone line, but the internet is still tantalisingly out of reach while I search for a rock bottom deal. I'm not going with TalkTalk though. Once I am connected, the blog is mine to control.
Tonight, I can't face the thought of watching three cooking programs in a row, so I'll give Rick Stein and Heston Blumenthal a miss. Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares is good enough to sate my appetite for this genre. He really brings out the best in people.
My bike works again. I had headset issues, which were confirmed by the local bike shop. They took out the old one, and it could be termed a 'disintegrated headset'. Ho ho ho. They also replaced my new Shimano gear cable with a proper Campagnolo one, so that the gears actually work again now. Joy!
In other riveting news, I've started the lengthy process to get a national insurance number. That involved a trip to Bristol on a train that was delayed by half an hour. When we got on, we were told that it had to make a couple of extra stops as a result, and the back engine had broken down so we could only go at half speed. Now I see why Brits are so good at complaining. Just remember, if you've been inconvenienced while using the trains in Oz, it could be worse and you'll pay triple for the privilege. I will, however, give Bristol Temple Meads station a positive rating.
The cricket has not exactly been taking the country by storm either. The gallant English lads managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of a draw in Adelaide, and most people around here weren't surprised. Even when England scored 6-551 in their first innings and had Australia on the ropes for a short time in their first innings, I heard exactly one person sounding vaguely optimistic. And he was in a very crowded London bus at 2am. Come to think of it, all the vocal English supporters are probably in Australia.
It goes without saying that I do not count myself among the English cricket team's supporters. I also didn't follow cricket much after Australia started winning everything, everywhere. The Aussies didn't need any more support! Then I come back to find out that Shane Warne has more than 650 wickets and is still as gormless as ever. I say ooh aah Glen McGrath.
I'd better get the internet on soon, otherwise this will become an endless journal of pessimism and hate.
The day after
The internet could take a while to arrive, as the Christmas post is slow at this time of the year. So much for the speed of light.
Weather better. I rode up the most ridiculously steep hill I've found since I've been here. It's comparable in steepness to Attunga St in Sydney, but without the flat bits. To get to it, you (well, I) climb up the first part of Kingsdown, which is 1 km at 7%. Then turn right and make sure you're in the lowest gear, because the next 300m is 22% average. Thankfully, it's smooth. 39x23 is insufficient, and there were times when I nearly put a foot down. It felt even harder than the Koppenberg done in dry conditions. After you've done that middle bit, it's another 300-400m at 10%, which feels quite easy.
Later on in the ride, I found another silly muddy and bumpy descent down into Slaughterford, followed by a steep climb that was like riding up a creek. At the time, I noted I didn't have a paddle. It's very easy to do 500-600m of climbing in a 30-40 km ride here.
I'm not getting Torchwood at all. I know it's cop/sci-fi, but it always seems so contrived. Too much hype.
Gearing up for at least four Christmas dos in the upcoming week, including "Christmas in December" in London with members of The Family. Back to reading Fear and Loathing...
So far, I've managed to annoy my downstairs neighbours twice in less than a day. That's gotta be a record. I could annoy them more by having a house warming. I'm seriously considering doing that because the space heater in my front room doesn't work, and it's winter. If I burn my brand new DVD player, I should be able to keep warm for a few more hours, but I'll probably drop ash on my neighbours' carpet.
It's either that or the subwoofer. Maybe I could burn that too. I won't burn my newly acquired coffee maker though. That would be foolish.
The handy thing about this flat is that it's right opposite Bath CC's meeting point on Sunday morning. I went out with them today and it wasn't quite as disorganised as usual. We went to a cafe in Calne that opened especially for us. Nice, although they didn't know what raisin toast was, so I had a tea cake. It started raining on the way back, which made it extra fun. I'm now enjoying the descents with sticky tyres on. Whee!
It has to be said that I've seen better weather in my time. A tornado wiped out a bit of NW London the other day, for example. Most days, it's not actually raining in the morning, but the roads are always wet from the night before. Then we get violent showers during the day, followed by sunny breaks. It's similar to Belgian weather, but it seems even windier and more variable if that's possible.
On the plus side (there's always a plus side), I've found a second place that serves good coffee in Bath. Fopp, which is conviently situated almost directly below Westgate House, where we seem to be spending a lot of time. It's just the thing for a debrief. It's hard to spot, because it's a book/CD shop at street level. You have to go downstairs to a semi-art gallery where the coffee shop is, and you can browse the semi-art. It's a bit spacious, in a semi-art gallery sort of way, but the cappucino has a nice, creamy froth.
I also survived Future's company forum. That was no mean feat, because after the rah-rah and Q&A, there were free drinks at the Slug and Lettuce. It was only until 8:30pm, but we managed to 'order' enough rounds to see us through until midnight. Quite easily, in fact. Kudos to Andrew Doddy from MBUK for his prescience.
Day 3
Times are tough. I still haven't got the internet at home, or even a phone. But things aren't all grim, because the space heater in the front room started working, even though I turned it off at the wall and turned all the settings down to minimum. Very spooky. That means I can stop burning DVD players, because they are not very warming. The neighbours will be happier.
I've started reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, by Hunter S. Thompson. I can say that doing the Tour de France as a journalist isn't quite like that, but some things come close. Next time I go, I'll get an attorney.
Weather still poor. I can't believe I set out for a 40 km ride this morning in the dark and the rain. It was just a cruise up and down the bike path to Bristol, so at least I didn't have to deal with traffic or hills. I'm beginning to think I have lost the plot. If indeed I ever had it.
I had an 'espresso' from the free vending machine on our floor today. Bad idea, and proof of the above observation.
Random thought, but not a particularly deep one: There's still a cultural difference here compared to Oz, but I don't actually feel like a foreigner any more. One in ten Brits supposedly lives abroad, with most of them moving to Australia. What do I count as? Ah, it's in the fine print at the bottom of the contract for my soul: "Certified loony".
Tuesday
Progress has been made, although one shouldn't use the passive voice. I have a phone line, but the internet is still tantalisingly out of reach while I search for a rock bottom deal. I'm not going with TalkTalk though. Once I am connected, the blog is mine to control.
Tonight, I can't face the thought of watching three cooking programs in a row, so I'll give Rick Stein and Heston Blumenthal a miss. Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares is good enough to sate my appetite for this genre. He really brings out the best in people.
My bike works again. I had headset issues, which were confirmed by the local bike shop. They took out the old one, and it could be termed a 'disintegrated headset'. Ho ho ho. They also replaced my new Shimano gear cable with a proper Campagnolo one, so that the gears actually work again now. Joy!
In other riveting news, I've started the lengthy process to get a national insurance number. That involved a trip to Bristol on a train that was delayed by half an hour. When we got on, we were told that it had to make a couple of extra stops as a result, and the back engine had broken down so we could only go at half speed. Now I see why Brits are so good at complaining. Just remember, if you've been inconvenienced while using the trains in Oz, it could be worse and you'll pay triple for the privilege. I will, however, give Bristol Temple Meads station a positive rating.
The cricket has not exactly been taking the country by storm either. The gallant English lads managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of a draw in Adelaide, and most people around here weren't surprised. Even when England scored 6-551 in their first innings and had Australia on the ropes for a short time in their first innings, I heard exactly one person sounding vaguely optimistic. And he was in a very crowded London bus at 2am. Come to think of it, all the vocal English supporters are probably in Australia.
It goes without saying that I do not count myself among the English cricket team's supporters. I also didn't follow cricket much after Australia started winning everything, everywhere. The Aussies didn't need any more support! Then I come back to find out that Shane Warne has more than 650 wickets and is still as gormless as ever. I say ooh aah Glen McGrath.
I'd better get the internet on soon, otherwise this will become an endless journal of pessimism and hate.
The day after
The internet could take a while to arrive, as the Christmas post is slow at this time of the year. So much for the speed of light.
Weather better. I rode up the most ridiculously steep hill I've found since I've been here. It's comparable in steepness to Attunga St in Sydney, but without the flat bits. To get to it, you (well, I) climb up the first part of Kingsdown, which is 1 km at 7%. Then turn right and make sure you're in the lowest gear, because the next 300m is 22% average. Thankfully, it's smooth. 39x23 is insufficient, and there were times when I nearly put a foot down. It felt even harder than the Koppenberg done in dry conditions. After you've done that middle bit, it's another 300-400m at 10%, which feels quite easy.
Later on in the ride, I found another silly muddy and bumpy descent down into Slaughterford, followed by a steep climb that was like riding up a creek. At the time, I noted I didn't have a paddle. It's very easy to do 500-600m of climbing in a 30-40 km ride here.
I'm not getting Torchwood at all. I know it's cop/sci-fi, but it always seems so contrived. Too much hype.
Gearing up for at least four Christmas dos in the upcoming week, including "Christmas in December" in London with members of The Family. Back to reading Fear and Loathing...
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Dissociated bilge
To follow up from yesterday's missive...
According to the mile stone on the A4 on the way out of Bath, London is 102 miles (165 km in the new money). According to my Garmin Edge GPS, it's 203 km (124 miles in the old money). I worked out that I did an extra 10 km by taking the scenic route near Hungerford, then another 5 km by getting slightly lost on my way into London, and probably 10 km from central London to Lucy and Pete's place. But it doesn't quite add up. These things can annoy one.
All I can say is that it's a bloody long way and it was lucky that I had a second muesli bar in Hounslow.
Today I took the lazy option and caught the train to Reading. That chops off 60-70 km and about 2.5 hours riding time because you can avoid getting out of London. Luckily, I had a block headwind the whole way home, accompanied by a few showers and a total lack of light in the last hour (I have good lights). Otherwise there is the danger of going soft over winter.
Caz goes home
As previously mentioned, the purpose of the trip was to farewell Carolyn, the elder of the Forbes girls. She's going to do a Masters in Muzak at Melbourne Uni. Good on her.
The sushi bar in Piccadilly was shut, which was most annoying. Fortunately, Carolyn had the foresight to book a room in The Salisbury in Covent Garden. It was a handy location, as her opera star sister Mandy could pop in after singing in our old friend Ludwig Van's dreaded Ninth Symphony.
I reminded Mandy that (20 years ago!) I used to babysit her while waiting for piano lessons. One time, I locked her out the back for being naughty. She reminded me in turn that she kicked a hole in the door to try to get back in. She was only eight, and very naughty. She has turned out well.
Another blast from the past was meeting Sally Piper, the daughter of Colin Piper, who was a very good friend of Colin Forbes. She must have been no more than 10 when I last saw her. It's amazing closing that sort of a gap across the other side of the world. Unbeloivable, in fact.
A good night was definitely had, possibly by all, although Lucy seemed disinclined to move very far on Sunday morning. A 125 km bike ride does the trick.
Shark vs. seal
For fans of BBC wildlife docos, check out this clip from Planet Earth (you need Real Player). If this doesn't work, go to www.bbc.co.uk and look at "Programmes", then pick "Great white predator". You still need Real Player.
This is the most breathtaking piece of footage I've seen for a very long time. It took four weeks of tooling around in shark infested waters in South Africa to get. I cannot beloive it, Neville.
Strewth, we have our company forum tomorrow. It starts at 4pm, but there are free drinks at the Slug and Lettuce afterwards. Somewhat fortuitously, it is around the corner from our flat. Oh dear.
According to the mile stone on the A4 on the way out of Bath, London is 102 miles (165 km in the new money). According to my Garmin Edge GPS, it's 203 km (124 miles in the old money). I worked out that I did an extra 10 km by taking the scenic route near Hungerford, then another 5 km by getting slightly lost on my way into London, and probably 10 km from central London to Lucy and Pete's place. But it doesn't quite add up. These things can annoy one.
All I can say is that it's a bloody long way and it was lucky that I had a second muesli bar in Hounslow.
Today I took the lazy option and caught the train to Reading. That chops off 60-70 km and about 2.5 hours riding time because you can avoid getting out of London. Luckily, I had a block headwind the whole way home, accompanied by a few showers and a total lack of light in the last hour (I have good lights). Otherwise there is the danger of going soft over winter.
Caz goes home
As previously mentioned, the purpose of the trip was to farewell Carolyn, the elder of the Forbes girls. She's going to do a Masters in Muzak at Melbourne Uni. Good on her.
The sushi bar in Piccadilly was shut, which was most annoying. Fortunately, Carolyn had the foresight to book a room in The Salisbury in Covent Garden. It was a handy location, as her opera star sister Mandy could pop in after singing in our old friend Ludwig Van's dreaded Ninth Symphony.
I reminded Mandy that (20 years ago!) I used to babysit her while waiting for piano lessons. One time, I locked her out the back for being naughty. She reminded me in turn that she kicked a hole in the door to try to get back in. She was only eight, and very naughty. She has turned out well.
Another blast from the past was meeting Sally Piper, the daughter of Colin Piper, who was a very good friend of Colin Forbes. She must have been no more than 10 when I last saw her. It's amazing closing that sort of a gap across the other side of the world. Unbeloivable, in fact.
A good night was definitely had, possibly by all, although Lucy seemed disinclined to move very far on Sunday morning. A 125 km bike ride does the trick.
Shark vs. seal
For fans of BBC wildlife docos, check out this clip from Planet Earth (you need Real Player). If this doesn't work, go to www.bbc.co.uk and look at "Programmes", then pick "Great white predator". You still need Real Player.
This is the most breathtaking piece of footage I've seen for a very long time. It took four weeks of tooling around in shark infested waters in South Africa to get. I cannot beloive it, Neville.
Strewth, we have our company forum tomorrow. It starts at 4pm, but there are free drinks at the Slug and Lettuce afterwards. Somewhat fortuitously, it is around the corner from our flat. Oh dear.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Associated bilge
Here is a quick one as I contemplate riding to London not via the national cycle network. Reason for visit: Our mutual friend Carolyn is having going away drinks because she's gwine back to Oz, having spent the last few years working for the British library. Venue: I think we're meeting at a certain sushi bar in Piccadilly.
In other news, the TV here is superior to the beer. Hell, they even have episodes of the Simpsons that I haven't seen yet. Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares and Never Mind the Buzzcocks are probably my favourite shows of the moment. I remember NMtB from watching it in Belgium in 1998, and it has aged well. And for a laugh, there's always Unversity Challenge ("Rah rah rah, smash the oiks!"). Cousin Ant will be on that at some stage.
Now, how to navigate into London not via the norf circular.
In other news, the TV here is superior to the beer. Hell, they even have episodes of the Simpsons that I haven't seen yet. Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares and Never Mind the Buzzcocks are probably my favourite shows of the moment. I remember NMtB from watching it in Belgium in 1998, and it has aged well. And for a laugh, there's always Unversity Challenge ("Rah rah rah, smash the oiks!"). Cousin Ant will be on that at some stage.
Now, how to navigate into London not via the norf circular.
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