Jan
25

He rides again…

Yesterday was my first day on my new commute.

I haven’t changed jobs. After several years experimenting with commuting by train, and alternatively by foot, I finally decided that the only viable solution was to combine the two thus eliminating the wasted time walking at either end. It also increased my choice of trains, reducing waiting times, by fifty percent.

Before we moved out to the suburbs I cycled all the time. The route from Bow to Soho is perfect for this: a light half hour ride on a relatively simple route and considerably faster than the train. I was in the best shape of my life and I loved it.

Two things changed that: I got severe bronchitis that took me out for about ten weeks (I coughed up blood – but not like I used to as the joke goes…) and we moved two zones further out. When I attempted the commute from Abbey Wood I found that my fitness level had dropped too far, 26 miles a day, five days a week, proving beyond me if I wanted to remain conscious for the evening. Periodically, I would give it another go but the same thing happened every time: it just wiped me out.

Anyway, the commute by foot and train gives me the chance to read but it takes forever. There’s a fifteen minute walk to the station, the train is never on time so there’s a wait, the train takes forty-five minutes to an hour depending on delays, and then a twenty minute walk. Evenings are worse. Sometimes my boss, who lives in Bristol, gets home before me. I couldn’t carry on like that. The fold up was the obvious solution.

After my first day I can report the following:

1. It is indeed faster.
2. I should not cycle without coffee inside me.
3. Fellow commuters frown on accidental headbutting due to forgetting to remove helmet.
4. If I do not zip up my pocket I will lose stuff (I already learned this lesson the hard way when I commuted from Bow but apparently it didn’t stick).
5. Fellow commuters look at you like you’re some kind of three headed freak for bring a fold up on the train. At least I think they do, it might be worse: they might think I am a geography teacher.

For those of you wondering: it reduced my evening commute from an hour and a half, on average, to 1 hour door to door. No prizes for guessing what I am spending the extra time doing…

What are your top commuter tips?

Sep
15

Incoming

Following our trip around the head in Manly, we elected to take it a bit easier the next day and went for a wander around the local aquarium, Oceanworld. The attraction is a small one, comprising three levels and was partially under renovation on our visit but it was a fun and interesting couple of hours all the same. In the upper tanks there are several different species of smallish fish and sea life, along with several exhibits on the lethality of the coast in these parts.

Dropping down to the bottom level you find yourself in the tunnel walk. The main tank through which the tunnel passes is filled with Grey Nurse sharks (who look fierce and big but are relatively harmless) and several massive rays. You can, if inclined, get in the tank with them. I wasn’t. Even so there were good opportunities for photos and getting a really good look at some sharks that were basically the same size as a human being.

From Oceanworld we wandered into Manly proper feeling that as we were at the sea side we should eat fish and chips on the beachfront. It’s a Brit thing. Sigh.

Long term readers of my blog will be familiar with the Paris incident.

I’d already noted that my old nemesis had also gotten to the southern continent and the presence of some fairly boisterous seagull did give me a moments pause but I pushed such thoughts from my mind as me worrying as usual. After all, the beach front was full of people with similar ideas and statistically I’d be really unlucky to get hit out of all those people. Right?

At least they missed my head this time.

Sep
14

Some head…

Wednesday saw the weather – somewhat temperamental given it’s only just spring here – improve and so we headed out for some outdoor adventuring. A long winded way of saying we went for a walk.

Manly is located on a finger of land jutting out from Australia that helps form part of Sydney’s natural harbour. The Northen Head of this outcrop of land affords – we were assured – good views of the harbour. The walk itself was described as scenic, there was a museum on the way (promising some history of the Head during the second world war) and, at 4k, a decent bit of exercise.

It took us a couple of attempts to find the route as being pampered poms we were expecting a scenic walk that was marked by signs. This is not the case and the first part of the walk is a somewhat mundane meander through a Manly suburb on your way up to the North Head National Park. Once you’re in to the park itself the going becomes much more like bush that entails the footpath disappearing and a thick covering of trees and bush either side that obscures any views. We weren’t the only walkers but there were long gaps where we were the only people on the road save for whatever was moving through the undergrowth along side us. I have a vivid imagination.

The Artillery museum was, alas, closed. We had checked in the guide and we were there within the stated hours but I guess it was out of season and, although there were other people around, it was hard to justify staying open for the full day. Many of the exhibits (read huge guns) were by necessity outside and so I had a brief look at these before moving on. There was still some distance to go.

On reaching the apex of the Head and the lookouts all became clear. A stunning view of the harbour – our first proper view – and following the Fairfax trail (named for a local newspaper man) afforded some great views of cliffs not a million miles away in appearance from the coastline in my native Wales. We spent a good hour up there. It really was beautiful. It was a relief to see a bus idling as we turned to make our descent. I’m not to proud to confess we took the bus back into town.

Our walk had left us with quite the hunger and so we meandered off to a local restaurant where I tried some local produce. Kangaroo tastes like a very meaty version of beef, quite rich and tender but with less fat and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

A good day all in all.

Sep
13

Jingle jingle

I’m just posting these as I get a chance, and really just picking up on some of the highlights. In between I’m working on the book and relaxing.

Monday we switched to a hotel in Manly to allow ourselves some pampering and to give my sister a break. We had an enjoyable, if unexpected, tour of Manly courtesy of a misunderstanding between the taxi driver and myself. Jetlag, it seems, is the gift that keeps on giving. However, we got a good dinner recommendation out of it. Result.

Our evening meal was spent at a small Australian chain restaurant called Ribs and Rumps. Nice restaurant; great service and gargantuan servings of meat – which was what I was after. G then rolled me back to the hotel. :)

On Tuesday, feeling we should really take advantage of our locale, we ventured out into Manly to the places small but perfectly formed gallery. In the guides it is actually declared a museum and gallery but this does seem to be stretching the definition  a bit given the historical exhibits all fit in one room. It was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon wandering round some interesting and talented paintings.

I wasn’t aware that Manly had a long established history of bringing kids from the outback out to the Far West school and so, although small, the museum exhibits were genuinely interesting. It was a bit heartbreaking to see the medical conditions that many of the previous incumbents of the school had to deal with. A charming, if random, contrast to this exhibit was provided by a brief history of the surfboard, including example boards going back to the twenties that adorned the ceiling.

A local musician (Manjia Music) serenaded us with violin and keyboard, playing – quite by chance – as part of the Manly art festival. The intriguing performer actually jingled as she walked – her costume having been strewn with tiny bells – and played her self described mixture of spiritual, healing and meditative music. I don’t know about that but it was relaxing, as was the rest of the day.

Sep
12

Jetlagged in Manly

This was written a week ago but access to the internet has been intermittent.

When last seen I was chilling out in Hong Kong airport, en route to Sydney. I’m in Sydney now, having spent all Sunday with my sister and now being safely ensconced in a decent hotel to write for a few days. I’ve found the jet lag hit me more on the way over than it did when I went to New Zealand, I’m not sure why – though we were running quite hard before the trip.

The flight over was alright; long haul flights are never much fun because I don’t thing human beings are designed to be in that close proximity for that amount of time and we’re definitely not designed to sit for that long. I fly Virgin because I’ve generally had good experiences with them. That said, I was a bit disappointed with some aspects of the flight including their reduced number of services; 3 meals and a snack on what is a 25 hour trip is a bit of an ask. Also: kicking a passenger to get them to move is not cool – even if you are in the right – and so I’d think twice before booking with them again.

That said, I managed to get some sleep on the way over and so when we arrived in Sydney I was able to present some semblance of coherent thought as long as I wasn’t asked to add up. Sunday morning seemed to be the time to arrive. It’s not the largest airport and the passenger pile up in arrivals gave us plenty of time to experience the joys of Australian border control. It was a strange paradox of seemingly fussy checks, coupled with a cheery smile and an other wise laid back attitude that seemed at odds with the actual rules. As a result it took as about an hour and a half to get through customs but we were still smiling when we got to the other side. Jet lag does funny things to you.

It was very cool to see my sister who, aside from a brief overnight visit, we hadn’t seen since October 2008, and my brother-in-law who I hadn’t seen at all for two years. A brief car journey took us through the Sydney surrounds to Manly, the wind was whipping up good but other than that the sky was blue, the sun was out and it was a pretty fresh Sunday morning. Ready to start nibbling on my elbow after the somewhat sparse food services on the flights we threw on a change of clothes and headed out into Manly.

I can see why my sister moved there.

A brief walk along a path that runs parallel to the crystal blue water led us round the bay to Manly Wharf and from there into the town centre of Manly. Breakfast was obtained in a pleasant café whose name I have promptly forgotten in a cloud of jetlag amnesia. The wind wasn’t enough to deter us from sitting outside but we nearly came a cropper when the gusts launched one of the canvas shades up into the air. Vigilant service staff led me to believe this wasn’t an uncommon event and they soon had the shade secured once more.

We continued the walk onto busy Manly beach – it was, I’m given to understand, the first good days weather in a few days. The surfers were out in force despite my concern that they bore an unfortunate resemblance to seals that prompted me to recount how and why most large shark attacks occur. Note to self: I must try to remember others do not always share my fascination with those toothy marvels of evolution. There were several enthusiastic volleyball games in progress on the beach and I found this spectacle led to me running out of steam on my lectures on the dangers of oceanic wildlife in the southern climbs. I can’t imagine why.

In a somewhat bizarre experience of pseudo-time travel I saw what looked to me like a full-blown square rigged sailing ship coming round the distant point. I pointed out my observation, lest jet lag had induced hallucinations, and was confirmed in my assessment. It was a square-rigged wooden sailing ship. Moreover I learned that you could book a trip on it and I can assure you I will be trying to squeeze that trip in before I go. It was a strange sight: the horizon was otherwise clear of ships and so the image wasn’t – one imagines – dissimilar to what the original inhabitants must have seen a few hundred years ago as the first European ships arrived – without the surfers, naturally.

By the time we had completed a circuit G and I were starting to flag. The rest of the afternoon was passed chatting, quaffing ginger beer, and enjoying the frankly spectacular view across the Manly section of the bay. I admitted defeat around early evening and passed out.

Sep
04

Hong Kong…ish

I’m in Hong Kong. For an hour.

The sun has just gone down and the hills are coming alive with neon like nesting firebugs. I like Hong Kong. I was here three years ago, experiencing the weird Chinese/British fusion that is peculiar to this place and having adventures. Victoria Peak at sunset is still one of my favourite places.

I also like that the airport has free wi-fi: as it should be rest of the world.

Now I just need to dodge be-turbaned men who think I have a lucky face until I fly and all will be well. See you in Oz.

Jun
06

New York

In a few hours I’ll be heading for the airport and New York.

I’m taking a break from the daily hustle to see some new places, write some stuff and generally Not Be In Work over my birthday. There will be more posts over the course of the week as I generally find I have more time when I’m off and I will be doing Stuff about which to blog about.  It’ll be nice to stand in another of the cities I included in draft zero of Forever, and I’m even staying right next to where I set the principle action: be interesting to see if I cobbled together something like the place or not.

Now I really must go finish the last email I need to send before I go and get some shut eye before I keep my house sitters up even later than I already have.

Feb
16

The week that was: City of Light

It’s that time of the week again. Been an eventful one this week.

World:

To be honest I wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on in the world as the imminent threat of snow focussed all my attention on just what the hell I was going to do if the Eurostar shut down. I vaguely got something about some designer allegedly offing himself (very sad when anyone does it, regardless of fame) and some weird Scottish fella, increasingly few people pay attention to, employing yet another cynical media trick. Oh and Wales won. Just.

Work:

Buzz was the name of the game last week as Google demonstrated its ability to casually ignore privacy to an even greater level than most social networks. For those who missed it Google launched Buzz, a twitter/facebook hybrid that sits in your Gmail interface and was – until today – defaulted to on and accidentally made all your highest frequency contacts visible to the world. I was unsurprised that caught people’s attention but shocked and disappointed that the very dodgy terms and conditions around the Buzz i-phone app didn’t attract more attention. Perhaps it was corrected quickly but certainly initially in order to use the app you had to agree to let it use your location. This may have been only for targeted advertising but if the system is used in the way Twitter is then it could have unforeseen consequences.

Writing:

Word count tailed off a bit last week. This was disappointing but I managed an end of week rally and know where I am going this week – fingers crossed. I am still working to finish off the last draft of TSG.

Reading:

Mainly reading Aliette de Bodard’s debut novel Servant of the Underworld; an Aztec murder mystery with full blown magic and mayhem; Aliette’s great story telling and artfully woven research – what’s not to love?

Fitness:

Pretty good week here. Managed to up my cardio and finally introduce some resistance work, mainly just using my own weight for now. This is of little interest really other than to draw attention to how ridiculous I look on a cross trainer and how it was an entirely different short tubby Welshman that fell off. Honest.

Travel:

Constant readers and people who know me in meatspace will know I was planning Something for last weekend. The something was a return to Paris that G was unaware of and the first time we had been back since the infamous Paris Incident that occurred shortly after this blog was started. It was a surprise for G, meant as a distraction from a rough Christmas and a means of sorting something else out that will probably spill out in the next couple of days. But not yet.

The trip was a great success: we managed to see Notre Dame, hang out in the very cool Shakespeare & Company bookshop, wander round parts of the Louvre we missed last time, see the Chinese New Year parade and ate some very good food. Best of all: I escaped pigeon attack.

So it was a pretty full on week. How was yours?

Feb
12

Nemesis

For those following my twitter stream, and wondering what the hell I’ve been cryptically hinting at for the last week, the picture below is a clue. This weekend I face my nemesis one more time.*

A pigeon shows off his tally.

(Image via www.digitalfog.com)

* PS: Got you G. :)

Oct
04

Chartwell

My parents have been down (or I guess up and slightly to the right like) visiting.

The last couple of times they visited my mum has wanted to go to Chartwell and this time we finally got our shit together and went. Chartwell, of course, was the home of Winston Churchill and his family from 1922 until his death in 1965. It’s been maintained by the National Trust ever since as part historic house and part museum to Churchill’s life. Located in the Kent countryside it’s about sixteen or so miles from my house making it a quite easy afternoon out.

The house itself is set in amongst a small set of hills and a generous sprawl of gardens populated with a range of plants and water features. The house rises up on a raised flat that gives a series of breathtaking views across the rolling fields of Kent that, reportedly, was part of the reason Churchill fell in love with the property and bought it, against the advice of friends and, indeed, his own wife. It is an odd red brick Victorian building that, taken in another setting, I’m not sure many would care for, in spite of the changes Britain’s most famous Prime Minister wrought on it.

Thankfully, no one really comes to look at the architecture: they come to look at the grounds – beautiful – and the interior – strange but fascinating – and therein is its charm: for the interior is more or less preserved as it would have been when Churchill lived there. I’m not sure what I expected but walking through the house produces a weird, not unpleasant, presence of its famous owner, as if he just stepped out for the moment to walk in the garden, perhaps enjoying a cigar. Perhaps its the relative closeness of the period in which he lived, the furnishings are after all not that out of date really – not to my tastes but certainly not Victorian or Edwardian – and that adds a false familiarity of time if nothing else. Or maybe, in spite of the scale of the house, the distinct sense of family about the property.

The point is it was a more intimate kind of history that the building gave off and I thoroughly enjoyed exploring the house. Not least because nearly every room had a bookcase of some description, crammed with books, and a library room filled with rather more books. I managed to resist making off with some. Just. I remain somewhat in awe of Churchill’s own literary output and wonder – in spite of the servants – if he ever slept. It was a pleasant few hours, take a look next time you’re passing.

The rest of the weekend has been just as pleasant and a welcome break at the end of a crushingly paced week.

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