Happy Christmas!

Barring any weather- or otherwise related catastrophes, this time tomorrow I'll be at me maw's in Norn Irn for Christmas. One of my first tasks will be to set up her new computer, but given that she's moving on the 1st of January it's doubtful she (or I) will get on to the internet while I'm there.

So, happy Christmas to all and see you in the new year (or, err, slightly after Christmas when I get back to the flat).

Ho ho ho!!!

Flickr

I had 86 views of my photos on Flickr today, which represents a bit of a bloody spike in the figures (usually about 2 pictures get looked at a day. Am sure it must be someone I know, as most of the photos looked at have been on there since I first joined the site and aren't named anything or even tagged, but for a few hours am gonna pretend it's because my photography has finally started to gain the respect it deserves and this is the start of a snowball effect that sees me named as "the Twitter of 2010" by Vogue. Cos, you know, everyone doesn't know who I am at the start of the year but I'm everywhere to the point of irritation by the end. That kind of thing.

In the meantime, feel free to bump up the stats a little further.....


www.flickr.com/tattie_chomper

Almost that time of year again

and I'm starting to get a bit concerned about this rally malarkey. We have, mercy of mercy, managed to send a few emails to vehicle manufacturers of late asking for an ambulance. But rules on what we can and can't take are still way up in the air (latest I've seen - "if it passes for an ambulance in the UK, it'll probably do the same in Mongolia". Eh?) and the responses from the companies were beyond depressing. Ford stated that as we'd contacted the department that deals with charitable requests they were unable to help us (err, what?), Fiat's email address, as detailed on their website, doesn't exist, Volvo sent an autoreply and we are waiting on Mercedes coming back to us "within 3 working days" (in response to an email sent, err, 3 working days ago).

We're well into silly season pre-Christmas now where just about anyone with any sense is off work (I, it stands to reason, am not) so the chances of getting anywhere before the new year are nil. When my mum did her trek to Kenya, she was already about a third of the way to her target by Christmas. I have a less than brilliant feeling about things so far....

But, mustn't let it get in the way of celebrating Chrimbo with maw in Norn Irn! Home for a week, snow and Ryanair notwithstanding, before returning to Lahndahn for New Year. High, high hopes for 2010. I never learn.

Paris! Tres Bonne!

ah, bloody Paris, it was amazing! Hard to believe we were only there for about 36 hours.

Such a beautiful city, and after living in London the quietness of the streets was weird, even a few yards from the main attractions. We ticked off most of the main sights and thanks to the prohibitive price of alcohol (or even coffee), instead of being holed up in a bar we spent most of our time wandering around, seeing stuff and generally enjoying the difference from that other place a few hours up the tracks.

Here, in perfectly laid out format, are a few pics of the weekend.... some of them actually came out pretty well, just wish I knew how to put them on the blog without them looking like shit. Will try and get the rest of them onto Flickr in the next couple of days, These ones are of J outside the "pretend tube" (named after a free newspaper! honestly), me next to some sort of homage to Blackpool (weird), J and me outside an old church in the middle of a river, an old gate with the Blackpool monument behind it, a local cafe (couldn't find a McDonalds) and an old building with a greenhouse outside it.

As you can tell, we really got under the skin of the city during our stay. Magnificentique!

A chooay chooay chooay choo

Guess where I'm posting from? Only the bloody Eurostar, that's where! Ever since I was a small child and watched Maggie Thatcher shake Francois Mitterand's hand through the small gap where the two sides of the tunnel finally met, I've wanted to be on this train. And now I am! Sitting in London waiting to "depart", as they say in France - have been through French Border control already and le driver has just welcomed us aboard "zis train to Parees" as if it's as natural as the 23.04 to London Bridge via East Croydon. So exotic! So jet-set! So early I'll be asleep by Ebbsfleet! Salut maintenant!

Been updating the 'official' blog

We're going to try and get ourselves an ambulance. Hopefully there will be someone out there with a decent wagon they're willing to donate.

We actually have the option of jumping ship and joining on to one of the other two rallies that are taking place next year - one a traditional 'banger' drive where the cars need to cost less than £100, and the other where engine size must be less than 1.2L.

But we want to try and do some good, so an ambulance it is...

Have been adding some pictures to the rally website and will be updating the blog as things start to crank into gear - will also be writing up the 'behind the scenes gossip' on good old See That Tattie Run.... Think of it as the ITV2 coverage to the official site's staid mainstream show.

All we have at the moment are a few pics from the evening after the first rally meet down in Essex. Amazing what you can do with some free merchandise, no dinner and a few glasses of champagne.

http://mongolia.charityrallies.org/ulaanbooktour

gissa tenner

irie ma bredren.....

awfully sorry for the lack of updates on the rally preparations of late. We've had guests staying with us hence have been swept along in a whirlwind of entertaining and drinking for the past week. Highlights were watching the majestic Cottagers (ooer) grind out a tedious 1-0 win over CSKA Sofia on Thursday (but hey, it's still live football), and a trip to Greenwich Royal Observatory and the market on Saturday. J's cousin and her husband were over, a lovely couple and no mistake.

Anyway, that is absolutely, categorically the reason for no news on the rally front - not that we haven't done loads since I last blogged. I've, err, had a quick look on Ebay for ambulances. And I tried to talk to my team mate about the issues we're facing with regard to fund-raising, vehicle restrictions etc. Unfortunately I tried to do the latter whilst a bit the worse for wear one Friday evening; suffice to say it had the opposite effect to the team-bonding I had in mind.

Anyway, we're kick-starting it all now to try and catch a bit of the charitable spirit at this time of year. All we can really do is try to find someone willing to donate a vehicle that meets all the rules - if we can't get hold of one then we need to look for a plan B. At the moment, that involves driving to Ulaan Baatar and back again. Whilst firmly wedging the trip into 'epic' status, it adds an extra week at least on to the trip and means we may well lose one of the team due to financial constraints. Hopefully it won't come to that!

Team Ulaan Bulance! Gooooooooooo!

(err, that's meant to read "go", not "goo" by the way)

Still at a bit of a loss on the vehicular front

Got a summit meeting on Sunday to try and work out what the hell we're doing, get a common focus and try and actually boot this whole adventure into gear. The ambulance idea is seeming like it can work. We just need to get ourselves shipshape and start planning.

In the meantime we have some special guests visiting in the form of J's cousin and her husband and are off to watch the mighty Fulham FC take on CSKA Sofia in the Europa League tomorrow. Beggars, choosers, chance to watch the footie for not much money 'n' all that. And I have Aaron Hughes as an excuse for supporting them. That and the stadium's in a pretty part of town.

Ulaan Bulance

It never used to be this hard to raise a bit of money for charity and have an adventure into the bargain.

Turns out we can't take a car on the rally either. Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? The vision I've had in my mind over the years is a dusty veteran car careering over the desert. But apparently, dem's the rules for the particular rally we're signed up to - all to do with import duty at the border and a vareity of other Mongolian rules apparently. So, we're limited to one of about 3 different types of vehicle, none of which have enough seats for the team. It's not going well. I'm now on the waiting list for the "rival" rally, which has a higher entrance fee but lets - nay, insists - that you take a car with a 1.2L engine or smaller.

We still really want to do something to raise money for charity and figure the only thing we can take which would have room for us all is an ambulance. It appears that this is the vehicle of choice for the charity anyway and most of the website is trying to persuade us that it's 'a good thing'. Typically though, even that has conditions attached - it has to have done less than 65,000 miles. How many ambulances have done that few? We assume if we find one it will be ok to take, and we assume we'll be able to drive it, and we have to assume that in the event of us getting a puncture or dumping it in a ditch, it won't be a complete impossibility to get it fixed...! It does seem that perhaps we're being taken for a bit of a ride and in my lower, more cynical moments it seems like the Mongolian government are taking advantage of our good nature - I can't afford to drive a car less than 10 years old / 90,000 miles on the clock in the UK, never mind buy one with the intention of just giving it away to someone. We've flirted with the option of buying a Toyota Hilux or something and doing a round trip to Mongolia and back (thus avoiding the customs tax for importing into the country), but then it's just a huge road trip and none of us could ask for sponsorship without feeling a bit guilty.

So, err, anyone know an ambulance salesman with no space left on his driveway?

the most spontaneously arranged plans....

no sooner had we decided on a general theme for our fund-raising than those cheeky scamps in the Mongolian government have apparently scuppered our library-driving exploits. It would appear that the only cars that are import tax-exempt are those which are no older than 9 years old, with no more than a meagre 65,000 miles on the clock.

This bumps the price we'd have to pay up by a few grand, and makes it unlikely anyone will see fit to donate a vehicle for us. The rules for 'working vehicles' aren't necessarily as strict in terms of age, but have all sorts of other pre-conditions such as 'there can't be any seats in the back'. So either we try and find the cash for a car that would instantly be probably in the top 50% of vehicles on the road in Britain, or we try and squeeze our threesome into the cab of a Ford Transit or similar for 10,000km.

Needless to say, enthusiasm has taken a bit of a bashing in the last 24 hours. I remain positive and confident we'll find a way round it - a new set of emotions for me - but not entirely sure what that will be.

Buzzin & searchin

There's something about that first hit of red wine in the evening... Instant warm fuzzy loveliness in a glass..

Currently scouring the net for a rally vehicle in my Banrock Station bubble, dinner having been deferred so as not to "ruin the effect of the booze". You can't buy class like that, you have to mature into it.

Our initial gung-ho enthusiasm for pimping a mobile library to take to Mongolia has been tempered by inconvenient truths such as the utter impracticality of trying to take it along roads lacking in tarmac, the fact that some of them weigh about 7 tonnes and have the clearance of a hovercraft (try bungee roping that out of a ditch) and, perhaps most crucially, J's driving licence inexplicably only qualifies her to drive a car or vehicle up to 3.5 tonnes in weight. Not so Lucy and me, for our veteran pre-'97 driving experience means that we can drive any of the following: an electric scooter, a car, a truck under 7.5t, a minibus, a car & trailer, a 7.5t truck & trailer or a minibus & trailer. Not to mention a tractor, ride on lawnmower, tracked vehicle or road roller. None of which are necessarily more practical than a common-or-garden Land Rover, but it does somewhat limit our scope for something that's going to capture sponsors' imagination.

Latest thoughts are that a modified vehicle that could take wheelchairs would be useful out in the sticks; the only stumbling block being that they are bloody expensive - disabled people must be loaded, as the cheapest adapted MPVs we can find are around £15K. Would need to be a pretty feckin generous company to donate that. And it would mean we'd have to rethink our name. Harumph.

Ulaan Book Tour

How good is that name? Ulaan Book Tour? Ulaan Baatar? Geddit?

After our first meeting with the rally guys on Saturday, we were encouraged to start getting our message out to people asap. All well and good, except that we hadn't even got a team name at that point.

Lucy teaches English as a foreign language (or whatever it's referred to these days) and a large number of her students of late have hailed from Central Asia, Kazakhstan in particular. The planned purpose of our trip, besides allowing us to see the most fascinating parts of the world (in my opinion anyway), will be to try and help out a teaching charity in Mongolia with things such as English textbooks and other materials - whatever they need and we can get really.

Lucy has proven herself to be the brains of the operation so far (proving that her Marketing Masters isn't going to waste) and came up with the team name on Monday, incorporating our destination, cargo and, well, fact that we're doing kind of a tour to get there.

Our graphic designer mate Andy has magnanimously agreed to design our team logo and potentially a micro-site 'pro bono', so hopefully our home page on the official charity website and general web presence will shortly start to take shape. You can check out the current home page here, although admittedly it's still in the very early stages....

Ulaan Book Tour -  Mongolia Charity Rally 2010

Just for good measure, the justgiving site is also up and running - our goal is to raise £1500 for the rally charity to cover qualification for the event; we'll also be looking to raise some funds to cover basic expenses if possible and will no doubt come up with another, more personal charity as well. In the meantime, the Go Help fundraising site for the team is here: Ulaan Book Tour - Go Help Justgiving site.

Don't worry about making a note of the websites just now - I'll remind you about them from "time to time".

The worst kept secret...

way back in August, I vaguely alluded to some exciting news that may or may not be happening at some point in the future. Predictably, such a tease got the internet whirring into speculative overdrive. That, and the fact I've already told my only three regular readers (Lee, I'm assuming Helen told you), means that the big announcement is not going to come as a total surprise.

But, announce it I shall - it is now "official" insomuch as I finally cleared it with work that I'd be able to do it, thus removing the last obstacle besides my own incompetence from scuppering it before it really got started.

At the risk of confusing matters, STTR shall henceforth become See That Tattie Drive, as the blog becomes a testament to my fundraising and planning efforts for the trip of a lifetime.

On July 10 next year, my best mate Lucy, my girlfriend J and I shall pile into our as-yet-unchosen vehicle in London town and set off roughly due east.

Destination - Mongolia, via Europe, the Silk Road and a bit of Russia. My travel dream since about 2001 is within touching distance - all we need to do is get to the starting line of the Mongolia Charity Rally.

Glory be! A project to blog about! Prepare for a return to interesting posts! And regular, incessant pleas for cash! The only thing planned so far is the Reading half marathon - the whole point of doing it since signing up was to milk you all for sponsorship, I just couldn't tell you until I'd cleared it with work. I'm such a scamp.

Go us! Mongolia! Rrrrrarrrr!!!

want an iPhone

I like my current Sony Ericsson K800i, and it does everything I need it to - y'know, making phone calls, sending texts and the like - but recently people have started to mock it. I'm hurt. I only bought the bloody thing 18 months ago, although admittedly the model's about 3 years old now which makes it positively geriatric in mobile phone terms.

I worry though. All those apps, all that mobile internetedness. What will become of me? I already get slapped round the head with a dirty look when I'm sitting in the pub - somehow it's deemed 'unacceptable' and 'rude' to be checking Facebook or Twitter whilst out for the night with your girlfriend. I'm not sure I'll ever communicate verbally with anyone ever again if I have something like an iPhone - somewhat ironic.

All being well my application will be laughed out of the building by O2's credit department and normal patchy and intermittent service will be resumed. Surely a man who is on Provident Financial's regular junk mail database (£500 cash loan for 227% APR, delivered to your door by a 'friendly local representative'. It's unclear whether this is the same 'friendly local representative' who reappears monthly at the same door to take your cash repayment)

word

Kind of feel I've been neglecting the old blogging recently - as witty as my tweets are they are surely no substitute for the real thing.

So...err....you well? Umm, what you been up to? Me? Oh, you know, this and that. Working mainly.


must start running again, actually. Was gonna start tonight - the Reading half marathon is only 4 months away - but got back to the hood and wouldn't you just know it, it was bloody raining. What are the odds in mid-November? Definitely will recommence my jogging routine tomorrow, as long as it's not too cold.

Bonfire night rocked

out in the country with only a bonfire, some rural types and gallons of hot homemade cider for company. Oh, and the Mangled Wurzels. Yup, a Wurzels tribute band, who rocked the cow shed like it had never been rocked before.

Flat-iversary draws to a close

Raised a small glass of beer to the special day and spent the evening on the internet while 'er also-indoors yakked away in Polish to her friends over a bottle of plonk. Just the way we would have wanted it.

Off tomorrow to Pizza Express! Gawd bless ya, Voucher Codes

What is the 3rd anniversary anyway? Apparently for those folk who are married it's Leather. Maybe I'll buy her some chaps or something. Or a nice leather satchel. That's pretty much all that's made of leather that I can think of. A lovely purse perhaps. A belt? "Happy anniversary darling, here's a belt". Yeah, that has a good ring to it.

Sorry ladies - as should be apparent, I'm taken.

Prob won't be back online til after the weekend and the firework / barn dance / wurzel / cider-fest. See you then. I'll try and get a picture of the belt.

Remember remember

the first week of November... This time last year, etc...

As you will notice from perusal of some of my other posts I'm prone to more than a little nostalgia at the best of times, so I'm veritably hyper-ventilating this week as not one but two significant milestones pass....

This time last year, I was bedding down for my last night of being munched by bugs in my old house share, prior to moving in with J to our first place. Hard to believe we've been in our wee shoebox for a full 12 months, and even harder to believe there have not been any major disagreements in that time - I'm far from the least irritating of characters and have a deserved reputation for being a grumpy bastard before 10am. But here we are, and here we will stay for the foreseeable future - we flirted with the idea of finding a bigger place during the summer but we're comfy here and too lazy to move again.

Possibly more important is the second important - that of the 3 years that have passed since I left my international jet-setting playboy lifestyle behind and met my current flatmate. 3 years. Unbelievable. Once again the girl's inestimable pateince knows no bounds, and to show my gratitude I am currently scrabbling around for a 2-for-1 meal deal for Wednesday night. Some things never change.

Our first date was at the Battersea Park Guy Fawkes celebrations - a genius idea from yours truly in that I'll always remember the date, and you can't beat fireworks to fuel a bit of romance. This year will see us back down Brockwell Park in Sarf London for the 3rd year in a row. Then it's off to my sister's in 'the country' for her annual shindig; highlight this year - a 'Wurzels tribute act' at the barn dance after the fireworks. The mind boggles.Ooh arr.

Autumn's here

there's a strange orange glow lighting up the sky from the direction of Clapham tonight. It's very specific - almost like something might be on fire. It could just be the fog which sems to be covering South West London this evening..........

..........

.........

yup, just stuck me head out the window. It's fog. Wrap up folks, winter's a comin...

Root of all evil

Thought my filling was perhaps a bit dodgy recently, as I have a mild sharp pain from time to time. I've now been reliably informed that it might be the root and I may need a root canal...

I think I'll ignore it for a bit and hope it goes away. I hear that works.

Brighton mate....

I had an unexpected trip to Brighton at the weekend, a birthday surprise from the lovely J.... Bloody fantastic place - it's kind of unfair that one little city gets to be so great whilst the rest of us slum it in the real world. All I knew in the build up was that I was to keep Saturday 'evening' free and that I had to get up at 9am in the morning, so couldn't get drunk after work. I failed, of course, in this one simple task but felt better as I witnessed my guide for the weekend rolling back into the flat somewhat the worse for wear at 2am on Friday night.

I still didn't have a clue what was going on as we arrived at Victoria and it was only when we got to our coach that I saw where we were going. How cool - a day by the seaside! It was only when I asked what time we were coming back to London that J admitted "6 o'clock. Tomorrow evening". A whole flippin' weekend away?! What the hell?! Having checked into our hotel room - 3rd floor overlooking the beach and opposite the pier, naturally - we went out for a wander and pints. Dinner was booked, in a place that we knew little about but turned out to be perfect - I recommend you visit if you get the chance. It was a small Scandinavian bar called Northern Lights - booked because of my obsession with all things Norwegian and Swedish and, of course, of seeing the sky turn green in the Arctic Circle. It has the friendliest (and most authentically Scandinavian) staff in the world, and amazing food - although the reindeer steak was unfortunately finished for the day, my huge helping of Caselian casserole more than made up for it. The atmosphere was brilliant and had it not been for the fact that we were a bit knackered and wanted to see a few other places, we could quite happily have stayed longer. In hindsight it's probably better we left, as the dishevelled bar staff were still attempting to clear up after the party the night before when we returned for a drink the following day.

Sunday was spent walking the beach, strolling the lanes, checking out flat rental prices (usual day-dreaming), drinking far too much in the sunshine and stuffing ourselves on pub grub. It was magic.

The thing is, even before we went anywhere I was already overwhelmed that anyone would have gone to any effort to surprise me. But the thought that J had put into it just made me lost for words. I'm a lucky boy.

Just watched 'Confetti'

the British film starring a host of well known faces about a wedding competition. Usual pleasant enough British rom com fare, but I'll never be able to watch Peep Show in the same way again, having just watched 90 minutes of Jez and Sophie romping around in the altogether.....

sage observations

I'm 32. How the feck did that happen? That's proper old.

getting old

my 32nd year draws to a close, and I'm planning on hitting the sack in all of about 15 minutes. Still got it.

To be fair, was up at 4.30am this morning to fly back from Northern Ireland, making it two pre-5am starts in 3 days. I'm not quite the doddery old man who wakes up at 5am every day so I'm feeling the pace a bit. Had an amazing time back home with J and mum; can't remember the last time I laughed so much. Went for a walk on the beach; bought birthday presents for myself with mum's debit card (she was in the room at the time) and splashed out more of her money on a new PC and camera. Saturday evening, we hit 'Ellie Mays' across the road and chowed down on sumptuous venison and rib eye steak.... Am drooling just thinking about it.

Tomorrow I'm working for the birthday in years; somehow by now it doesn't seem worth the waste of a holiday. Few pints arranged for tomorrow night, with the 'big surprise' to come on Saturday. Woohoo!!

There's a certain irony

to the fact that an iconic image of a freedom fighter synonymous with the creation of a communist state is now being mass produced in an asian sweatshop for Primark.

Another qualification campaign draws to a close...

what price Northern Ireland reserves beating the Czech Republic away from home, whilst San Marino record their first victory since.... err...... ......28 April, 2004 - their only victory ever (against the might of Liechtenstein. In a friendly)? Against Slovenia, a team which beat them 5-0 two months ago?


Ah.

Bring on Euro 2012 then.

#Trafigura & #Carter-Ruck fail

Those who dismiss Twitter as a pointless waste of time and bandwith would do well to take notice of events last night and this morning. Within hours of the story breaking that the Guardian had had a court injunction served on behalf of libel lawyers to stop them reporting parliamentary question time, champions of free speech and those who follow them had bumped #Trafigura (responsible, allegedly, for using the Ivory Coast as a toxic waste dumping ground, the questioning of which by MP Paul Farrelly was the reason for the reporting ban) and #Carter-Ruck (the multi-national libel lawyers who temporarily successfully invoked press censorship of parliamentary proceedings to protect their client's interests) to the top of the 'trending' stats on Twitter.

This ensured people all over the world were drawn to find out exactly what was going on that was getting everyone so hot under the collar, links to 'traditional' news outlets' websites were flying about encouraging people to request they feature it on their websites and news programmes, and regular updates were bouncing around the world from the horses' mouths and person to person via the power of 'retweet'.

The result, early this afternoon, was that Carter-Ruck dropped the threat of court action against the Guardian for daring to report the news - spotting that not only was their reputation taking a battering, but the full facts of the story were already known by probably 99% more people around the world than would ever have read the report in the newspaper.

Twitter is one of the most recent symbols of the evolution of the internet and 'web 2.0'. What started as blogging and uploading pictures of last night down the pub (both still admirable uses of social web use) has become a powerful medium where multi-national behemoths, politicians and even entire governments (witness #Iran Election) can be questioned and held to account by the concerned majority. It's power to the people - the power of information, travelling at the speed of fibre optics from London to Baku to Buenos Aires and back again - and it is, in a small way at least, helping level the playing field just a little bit.

car trouble

I got ripped off by a car wash the other day. Had just finished excitedly texting J from inside the fluffy wheels of fun (sadly, I love car washes) when the foam stopped mid-spurt, leaving the front half of the car covered in soap and the rest dry as a bone. I went back to try and get a refund from the guy in the shop, who was as intelligent, amenable, capable and fragrant as you would expect of a career petrol station employee. It may surprise you to learn I didn't get my money because he 'couldn't leave the shop to check I was telling the truth' (obviously, I may simply have bottled it 5 seconds into the washing cycle when the big scary twirly things started up and was trying to claim an undue refund).

On Saturday, I followed up this piece of automotive misfortune by paying for, and failing to get, my parking permit renewed. Printer broke, y'see? Told to come back to the council 'any day before 5.30' to pick up the permit - this I duly did, having left work early this afternoon, to find that what they forgot to add was 'oh, except Tuesday. We close at 3 on a Tuesday'. So, permit expired as of today, and my poor, defenceless wee car despatched to the nearest permit-free street to my flat - on the perimeter of one of the area's rougher estates. I fear for it's safety. I'm sure my sleep tonight will be wracked with the distant, mournful parp of a '99 Clio horn, whispering 'why hast thou forsaken me' as local ne'er do wells make off with the wheels and wiper blades.

Not enjoying the car ownership experience at the moment. Involves far too much interaction with idiotic jobsworths who wouldn't know customer service if it knocked them over at high speed before reversing back repeatedly over them.

happy anniversary to me

this time 3 years ago, I was inebriated and basking in the glory of having just completed my first ever 10K run....

Ah, I remember it like it was yesterday. The culmination of the long, hot, summer of 2006: the training, the fund raising, the regular blogging..... How we all wish for those days again, especially given I was still a relative whippersnapper at the time.

Still, I now have the half marathon to look forward to (widely accepted as the sexier, cooler, younger brother of long, boring, actual marathon running). Apparently it'll take me 10 weeks to get in shape to do a 1:50, meaning I can kick back and relax until mid-January. Happy days.

I think you can agree, the 3 years haven't aged me, err, one bit...... Certainly haven't improved my post-race poses anyway...

Who needs blisters anyway?

Got a beautifully crafted email this morning from Dave Bedford, erstwhile moustachioed middle-distance Olympian and current race director of the London Marathon. It gently broke the news to me that I will not be joining the 39,999 other participants pounding the streets of our nation's capital next April, as follows:

"Commiserations

By now you should have received the news that your application to run in the 2010 Virgin London Marathon was unsuccessful. This news was contained in our Marathon News “Rejected” magazine which should have been delivered to you by post along with your Virgin London Marathon Rain Jacket. Thank you for donating your entry fee!"

The news was contained in what?

The 'Marathon News "Rejected" magazine'?

Rejected magazine?

A magazine, especially for those of us who have been considered to be part of one of the world's greatest sporting events, duly assessed, and rejected?

What are the articles about? The top 100 parties you'll never be invited to? How to cope with being mocked by hoodies? Reasons why she filed that restaining order? How to deal with the fact you're going to die alone, unloved and smelling of piss in your council flat?

The last time I checked, the London Marathon selection process was a ballot. The last time I checked a dictionary, a ballot by this definition involved putting all the entries into a hat and drawing lots - i.e. picking out people at random. Surely this makes me 'unlucky' at worst? Being told I've been rejected from a sporting event makes me regress to the lanky kid I once was, waiting in vain to be picked for football in PE.

I didn't wanna run anyway. Running's stupid and for girls. Anyway, I have a shiny red rain jacket now, which is more than the 'accepted' folk do. So nerr. If, of course, my copy of Rejected magazine ever turns up. Which it hasn't yet. The postie's probably using it to wipe his arse, just to show me how much of a loser I am.

Result

The sun shone, my nose stopped running and apart from two unexpected, huge blisters that kicked in at the 7km mark, the whole experience was pretty good.

Made it round the Hampton Court 10K in aid of Cancer Research in a fairly respectable time of 56.10. No records broken - in fact it could be my slowest "official" run ever, but given I was about to pull out on Tuesday, I'm well chuffed. J came to cheerlead, which in actual fact translated as keeping me company before and after, and sun-bathing whilst I was running, but who can blame her?

I'm now signed up for the Reading half marathon in March next year and am waiting for confirmation I haven't got through the ballot for the London marathon - in which case I may enter Edinburgh instead. But for now, I'm enjoying just getting home from work and sitting on my bony arse. It's like at school after I finished my GCSEs - I felt I should be doing something productive, but had that warm, fuzzy feeling that it was done and dusted and I was justified in doing absolutely nothing. Magic.

Thanks to Jude, my sister and my mum for sponsoring me! It's cos of you I bothered turning up at all....

Something fishy...

Imagine my shock a few minutes ago when I opened my tea-time scampi to discover a piece that looks like AN ACTUAL FISH! Is it a sign? Considered calling the local paper or trying to sell it on Ebay...but I'm too hungry

10K on Sunday....

I have stood up, been counted, and declared, "screw you Mother Nature! Man Flu shall not stop me!" My Bestival cold is still in full effect and I had seriously considered pulling out of the Cancer Research 10K on Sunday, but the thought of waking up on Sunday (no doubt with a hangover) knowing I should have been there, the training I have been doing and the knowledge that two people sponsored me persuaded me to have a tentative jog this evening. I made it 7.5km and decided that I could just about manage it round the course.

I'll be puffing along at the back with the fat chicks, but at least I'll have done it.

Bestival

Ah, so it was all worth it in the end. All the stress of getting the ticket melted away in the baking hot sunshine on the Isle of Wight. This time two weeks ago I was getting ready to go, ensuring everything was packed (except, unfortunately, for the Pritt Stick that would have made my fancy dress costume marginally less rubbish looking than it ultimately was).

A few niggles aside - the positioning of the main stage (at the top of a steep hill?!), the noise bleed from nearby stages, and most of all, the farcical departure procedures on Monday - I had an amazing time, as did the rest of the posse.... There were the usual tales of debauchery which due to a "what goes on tour" pact I am unable to divulge, but we all came through it with brain cells and - by and large - memories intact.

Highlights for me were Friendly Fires, Klaxons, 2 Many DJs, Speech Debelle and a couple of moments down at the Afterburner stage - Rob da Bank playing classic after classic on Saturday night (I never realised what an amazing tune 'Bonkers' by Dizzee Rascal was until I heard played 'properly') and closing off proceedings on Sunday night dancing and hollering along to cheesy pop in the Jim Beam bar. Of the headliners, I have to admit that I left Massive Attack after about 3 songs to go and dance my socks of at Optimo, and departed Kraftwerk after a similar amount of time on Saturday night - sacrilege I know, but I was on the road to falling asleep after overdoing it the night before and my heart just wasn't in it. It took the aforementioned Mr da Bank to drag me back from the abyss and keep me going until 2am. Elbow, thankfully, were as epic as I hoped they would be, and listening to 'One Day Like This' even now sends shivers down my spine.

The fancy dress was a bit of a disaster - stuck together with parcel tape, it looked for all the world like I was wearing some cardboard with a washing up bowl on my head and a pair of wellies wrapped in tin foil. Mercifully, Mr Spoon was by definition a space explorer built from assorted kitchen detritus, so I like to think I pulled off a far more authentic costume than the plentiful other Spoons I saw wafting around the festival. Someone thought so anyway, and somewhere on the internet there is a photo of me taken by one of the 'proper' photographers doing the rounds - as yet I've been unable to track it down though. I gave everyone a chuckle anyway, so I would call it a result all round....

Only downer was the queue to get out - bedlam that resulted in a 4 hour wait in the sun for a taxi. The only bonus was that we weren't in a car - my other mates were, and Craig and I were back in Portsmouth having a beer and some lunch whilst they hadn't yet moved an inch in the car park. Having all left together at 10.30am, I left Craig off in Woolwich at 7pm, was home by 8, whilst they wended their sorry way into their drive at midnight. Took the edge of events for a few days, but as usual, the bad bits are all forgotten now.....

I survived

Bestival. 2 Polish weddings. First day of new job. Done.

4 hours to get out of the festival, 17 hours of Polish train travel and a Bestival-related headcold later, I can finally take some time to relax and look back on the last week and a half....

Got some Bestie photos here....

http://www.flickr.com/photos/tattie_chomper/sets/72157622427807070/

Will update more about the fun and frolics on the Isle of Wight and in Polska over the next few days. Suffice to say it was all worth it.

Just another nondescript evening in London town

Will I ever get tired of this view?

C'mon boys!

Yep, all that needs to be said for tonight's crunch game against Slovakia is.....

COME ON NORTHERN IRELAND!!!!!!

Bestival calling...

Yep, finally, I have my ticket.

After calling Wightlink back again on Monday to be told the same vague shit about it "definitely being with me in the next couple of days", I asked to speak to someone who could tell me exactly what was going on. A very helpful supervisor called Henry finally explained that I was just the unlucky one (although not sure how many other people were affected) and he made sure my ticket was sent and called me back a few hours later with the tracking number.

Royal Mail then conspired to ramp up the stress levels that little bit further by having strikes yesterday and today in my area. Gawd bless the scabs' little cottons though, they not only tried to deliver it yesterday, but had the sorting office open this morning for me to pick it up (as it was sent special delivery). Swear to God, if this was some kind of cunning ruse to try and make me appreciate the weekend that is about to unfold, it has bloody worked. I can feel my stress levels rising again just thinking back to the whole episode.

But..... all that remains is for me to construct my Mr Spoon outfit, wake up tomorrow on time, get down to Pompey and get on that boat. It's on. Oh boy, is it on.

Wightlink fail

On 2nd June, I paid £225 to Wightlink in an attempt to be organised and take advantage of a combined ticket for Bestival and the car ferry to the Isle of Wight.

For the past 3 months, I've been looking forward to the festival, spending money on camping equipment etc, using my final holidays for the year and checking the news and line up information almost daily.

It is now the Sunday before the festival and my ticket still hasn't arrived. I was told at the time of booking that it would be sent out 2 weeks before it began. I called on Thursday to be told that information was wrong and that they were currently being sent out. I should phone back tomorrow (Friday) when they would give me a tracking number for Royal Mail. I mentioned that this was a bit inconvenient as I obviously work every day - the ticket has to be signed for so if it didn't arrive on Saturday I was going to have problems getting to the sorting office to collect it.

Sat in all morning on Saturday. Called Wightlink again to confirm that the ticket was on its way. Got told by a smug bloke called Will that due to an "anomaly" my ticket hadn't been sent out. What kind of anomaly? Just an anomaly. Obviously a company euphemism for "we've bitten off more that we can chew and can't cope with the simple task of matching up orders to tickets". They were currently trying to tidy up "all the loose ends", such as the fact they hadn't noticed I hadn't been sent my ticket.

I asked if they would have realised, if I hadn't called up to find out where it was? Will admitted it was probably a good thing I had. I asked him if he could guarantee that it would be sent on Monday? He guaranteed it would be. He also guaranteed that it would arrive on Tuesday... when, of course, I'm at work. So I'll need to go to the post office on Wednesday before work to collect it. That, obviously, is dependant on everything "Will" has told me being correct and coming true, which given my experiences so far I'm not counting on. If it doesn't arrive until Wednesday I'm screwed, as I'm leaving for the South Coast at 6am on Thursday morning.

There was complete ambivalence from Will as I tried to get him to see that it was perhaps poor customer service to be so badly organised. I can only imagine he'd had the same conversation with so many people he has grown cold to the amount of stress, annoyance and anger the situation has put me under. To be fair my incredulity at the situation saw me struggle for words to convey how I was feeling and I resorted to half-baked phrases like "farcical" - all met with the same weary, disinterested response. I'm now even concerned he'll deliberately ensure my ticket order 'disappears' as payback for my moaning. This is the level of paranoia I've sunk to.

I'm supposed to be getting excited, counting sleeps, making fancy dress costumes and day dreaming about this time next week. Instead I can't even think about the bloody festival because it gets me wound up and gives me a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Thanks a bunch Shitelink.

Ran 10km tonight

Got home from work, strapped on the gutties and off I jogged. I am a running machine!

Not literally, obviously. Things would be a bit weird if I were to lie in my local gym allowing people to run on the spot on top of me. Besides, if any item of furniture sums up my outlook on life, its a comfy plastic chair in the cafe, near the drinks machine and with a nice view of the swimming pool.

Safety advice

Apparently, this lighter shouldn't be given to Tintin when he's grumpy

750 up

Yep, my 750th post to STTR.

It's fair to say I've kind of limped towards this particular landmark, with posts appearing sporadiacally if at all over the last few months - the summer of '09 has been a busy one and as I've noted before, the more blog-worthy events that take place, the less likely I am going to have time to post about them. Ooh, the irony, eh?

Anyway, things are ticking along very nicely. The running continues (bettered my PB by 40s on my 5K route on Wednesday. Considering demanding a gender test) in the build up to the 10K on September 27 at Hampton Court. In two weeks time I'll be wandering around the (hopefully not muddy) field that is 'Bestival' and then I'm off to Poland for two weddings and a 70th.

Immediately on my return, I start my new job - yes, new job. Same company, essentially the same project manage-y thing I've been doing for the last few months, but it's permanent, in a completely different part of the company and a little extra cash. Looking forward to it but a teensy bit terrified as well, especially given the state my mind and body may be in come 21 September.

Things went a little crazy mid-week - first of all I went for dinner with J (something that never happens). Admittedly it was only because we had a 2 for 1 voucher, which turned out to have expired, but it was lovely. The red wine got us dreaming about Paris and although I don't think I was still drunk the next day, I spontaneously booked Eurostar tickets for just before Christmas. Works on two levels - J's never seen Paris and I've never been on the Eurostar. I don't know who's looking forward to it more.

To cap it all, I then paid £50 deposit for the start of my next big adventure.... Not confirmed yet but the team's assembled and the deadline is looming. It's big, it's life defining, it's....probably not going to happen. I don't do things like this. I will keep believing though, and as of 1st October it should be all systems go..... More to follow.

The demise of an insitution....

Ok, so maybe the title's a tad melodramatic (and, well, untrue), but it was with a fair degree of sadness I read the other day that London freesheet 'The Londonpaper' is to be closed down as it's not making enough money.

Putting aside the bare fact that I think it shits all over its tabloid comic rival, 'London Lite', I do have a personal reason for lamenting its demise - this is the rag that, in its infinite wisdom, decided to publish not one, but two of my attempts at journalism.

It'd be a good story to be sat here looking back on the 9th of December 2006 and getting nostalgic about 'the first day of the rest of my life', but as you probably know it wasn't the launchpad to a career entertaining and enthralling the nation with my pithy and astute observations on life. My second column, written about 9 months later in a drunken haze wasn't a patch on the first if I do say so myself and since then I'm stuggling to come up with blog posts, never mind 400 words. The fact is, after being able to write a first column when there was no pressure on, I couldn't follow it up once there was even a modicum of expectation.

So, column writing is quite difficult. I realise this now. The Londonpaper gave me the opportunity to test out my writing, they felt it was worth sharing with the rest of London and my fellow citizens gave me their feedback on how good it was. Had I been built for this kind of thing, or even made more of an effort, I might have done something more with it. But I didn't (yet), and that's fine. But thanks to them I'm not sitting here lamenting the fact that I'd love to be able to do something like that if only I had a chance. I have no idea how many people actually used it as a launchpad to bigger and better things, but judging by the amount of times contributors claimed to be "freelance writers", I would imagine at least a couple were bolshei enough to make it through.

Farewell Londonpaper. I shall miss reading you on my way home from work. And I shall miss Em, the cartoon character intended for girls but who I secretly have a bit of a crush on. Without realising it, picking up a copy from a friendly purple-clad distributor on the way out of the office had become part of life and my trip home won't be the same without it.

More helicopter based park action

Our tranquilitly shattered when the local copper chopper arrived to hover virtually 50ft above us looking for naughty people

Amazing what you can do with a drunk Pole and some salad

Brockwell Park, today.

Complete with airborne "There's only one Freddie Flintoff" banner in the distance over the Oval

Stuck halfway through day two of the great Sicilian Odyssey

We were in Italy for a week. At my current rate of documentation, it will take over 5 months to post about our experiences.

I make Stone Roses, Salman Rushdie and Charles Darwin look like Twitter users in comparison.

Melting

It's with great pleasure I can report that I am uncomfortably clammy and itchy. My windows are open, the mozzies are buzzing around and I am looking forward to a night's fitful sleep.

All it takes is one comment from someone north of Watford (monsoon, freezing cold, windy) to make me realise that I'm much more of a warm weather person. For now, anyway.

I almost got put on my hoop by a small dog this evening

I was leaving the park after jogging round a couple of laps, in a fair degree of pain, when a puppy came bounding towards the hedge. Didn't notice me - had eyes only for some indeterminate glittery / feline thing in the bushes. It became clear that if we both stayed on our current route there was going to be a collison, so at the last minute I skidded to a stop and tried to skip round the back of the dog. Of course, faced with an arm-flailing human in a bright red t-shirt almost on top of it (despite it not having noticed me in the slightest beforehand), the dog slammed on the anchors too and I ended up doing a strange kind of steeplechase-style straddle jump over the dog's arse.

I did the only thing I could do - i.e. tutted loudly, shook my head vigorously and muttered 'fugsake!' as I continued out through the park gate. It only took a few steps for it to sink in what a tool I probably seemed, getting all up myself about the fact a dog was on the path. In a park. Who'd have seen that coming?

Thankfully, I was snapped out of my mood within a few seconds. A family was coming the other way along the pavement, and when I looked up I noticed the little boy and girl - probably around 3 or 4 years old - both imitating my running style and grinning their wee heads off as I passed. Even I'm not that much of a grouch, and smiled back as they mock-powered their way past me. And I have to admit, I hope that they were accurate in their portrayal of me. Not a bad looking technique, if I do say so myself.

Perseid meteors

So, anyone south of Watford see any meteors last night? A combination of southwest facing windows, central London location, heavy cloud cover and general laziness succeeded in ensuring we saw nothing whatsoever.

Are they still going tonight? The clouds are gone, my view is perfect, but alas, still facing the wrong direction and gazing out at an orange, light-polluted sky. I keep thinking I see shooting stars but it turns out to be just another flight on final approach to Heathrow. You'd think the flashing red meteors would have given it away sooner. Ooh! There's another one! Oh. No. That'll be the police helicopter shining its search light on Brixton.

Can tell it's Thursday

...as I crack open a second beer of the evening at the ungodly hour of 11pm. This is living, my friends.

Pink knuckle ride

Some called us crazy. Some gazed at us with misty eyed awe. But all agreed, the Log Flume at Harbour Park, Littlehampton ("where the Fun never sets!") is second only to going over Niagra Falls in a barrel when it comes to water-related bravery.

We tamed the beast and walked away with our heads held high. Women fainted. Men nodded in gruff respect. I toddled off to take a photo of the sheer scale of the trial we had just endured (below). And everyone chipped in for the souvenir photo once they'd picked themselves back up off the floor and wiped the tears from their eyes.

Shiny happy people

Back from a marvellous trip to the seaside at the weekend. The sun shone, the skin sizzled, the lobster look was everywhere, and at least one humiliating photo of me was taken when my guard was down at the sea side. Admittedly, by a photographer who wouldn't even take his shirt off, never mind the plunge into the glistening English channel.

Camping is the shizzle. What's more, have convinced 'er indoors that it's a good idea to the point we're planning on our next trip. Only problem is the fast approaching autumn - although part of me quite likes the idea of sheltering in the tent from a rainstorm.

If you're ever in the Littlehampton area, I highly recommend Harbour Park - the Alton Towers of the West-Sussex-between-Worthing-and-Bognor coastal area. The Waltzer and Dodgems were fun, but without doubt the highlight was the death defying, knuckle-whitening Log Flume. J and I braved the terror (as pictured above), returning to our group battered, soaked and exhausted, but basking in the unadulterated devotion of a scarcely believing public.... I later took a photo of the South Coast Niagra Falls to be able to show my grandkids the kind of crazy stuff I did as a youngster. Pretty scary, I think you'll agree.

MLIA

Genius website - but be warned, horrendously addictive (see below post re: interview prep / horrendous performance link). Funny, touching, the whole nine yards of human life laid out anonymously for your entertainment. One day I'll think up something good enough to post on the site. MLIA.

Thanks to my compadre forgetful_chimp for remembering something other than where he's stashed his bananas for long enough to tell me about it.

My Life Is Average

The more observant amongst you will have noticed a lack of blogging from me this week as job interview prep took precedence (it was today - don't ask. I like my current job anyway).

Alas, your breath will have to be baited for a little while longer, as I'm off camping in Hampshire this weekend to celebrate the lovely Laura's birthday.

I shall return next week to continue the sporadic 'adventures in Sicily' series, and fill you in on what bin a gwan (in the local parlance) in my 'hood' of late.

Have a good weekend all......

Procrastination of the highest order

Things to do tonight:

• find notes for my interview on Friday
• write a blog post about La Rosa dei Venti Villa D'Arte - the amazing farmhouse we stayed in for a night in Sicily
• finally put the photos my mum has been asking for for months onto a CD
• sort out a duff battery to send back to the supplier for a replacement

What I actually did tonight:

• played about with photos on Yearbook Yourself

Love it!

Old age

Last year, I smoked between 10 and 20 fags a day and could run 3.1 km in 16 mins.

This year, I quit smoking in February and yet can still only run 3.5 km in 19 mins.

Doesn't bode well.

Balls

Joy of joys, Nikeplus has seen fit to upgrade their website in the month or so since I last checked it. For the uninitiated, Nikeplus is the chip thing that plugs into an ipod to measure running distance, calories etc and play you music / motivational American chatter as you jog round. I've always been disapppointed with the amount I could play about with the data once I uploaded it to the website, so am hoping that this has now changed. Certainly looks better anyway.

Unfortunately the same could not, apparently, be said for me yesterday. I have a pair of - well - shall we say "skimpier" running shorts that I have only worn a couple of times before. I don't normally wear any jocks when I'm running, as my shorts are all fitted with that horrible mesh thing that keeps your bits in place. Leaving my building yesterday things did feel a bit snug down below, but I thought I was being paranoid, pulled my t-shirt down a bit further and tottered off.

All was fine until I was halfway round the park when I glanced up to spot a girl walking the other way staring right at the general vicinity of my crown jewels. The look on her face was a cross between pity and horror - she made the mistake of glancing up at the exact moment I spotted what she was doing and looked mortified and sad at the same time. Suffice to say my running speed increased dramatically for the remainder of my route and I shall be ensuring I wear 3 pairs of pants next time I wear those shorts, if I don't burn them in some sort of cleansing ritual instead.

Man points -325. Self Esteem -99.

Sicily day two - Palermo to Enna

03/07/09 - Palermo to Enna

We were up bright and early on our first full day in Sicily, heading back to the airport to pick up our hire car. We hit the jackpot on the model of car we hired and soon were crawling back through the Palermo traffic in a 2 week old white Fiat 500 with a mere 900km on the clock.

I started to think I'd made a grave error bottling it at the rental desk.
'Would you like super insurance? A bargain at 160 Euros'.
'But it's only 150 Euros to hire the car'
'With an 800 Euro excess on the insurance for damage, 1600 Euros for theft'
(shoots quick look at nervous looking girlfriend/driver) 'err.....yeah. Go on then'

Yet here we were, 5 abreast across the 3 lane motorway, J transformed into a demon behind the wheel, steering our wee car expertly through the mayhem. The general rule of thumb seems to be "see a space and put your car in it before someone else does". The white lines have faded almost into oblivion and it appears that there is no real rush to repaint them, as this only confuses matters. Somehow, it works.

Soon, with the help of our at-that-point-trusty-sat-nav, Heather, we were on the motorway heading to the interior. We were booked in to spend a night at a farm house in near Enna, a medieval (or older) town clinging to a rock in the middle of the highlands and the centre of the island. The main roads are excellent and pretty empty, and for some reason I never quite established almost exclusively raised on pylons about 50 feet above the ground. I guess it's either to prevent the government having to buy the farmers' land off them to construct the road (as they can still access it beneath the overhead road) or it's some kind of earthquake protection. Either way, it feels a little like you've been transported into the future and are travelling in your hover car through the Sicilian countryside. It did at the time anyway - I should mention we only discovered that the car had air conditioning after around an hour, and prior to that I was imitating a german shepherd (i.e. the dog, not just a shepherd from Germany) with my head / tongue lolling out the window in a desperate attempt to cool down.

First sight of Enna is pretty awe-inspiring. It clings to a rock which rises out of the surrounding land and resembles a medieval fortress. You can see why various armies took years trying to invade it; you can almost taste the history. It would appear, however, that those town planners 1000 years ago never stopped to think that one day a small hatchback car would be invented and may wish to drive around the city streets.

This should have been the lesson we needed to disregard the sat nav, or at the very least pay equal attention to where it was sending us rather than blindly following it. We should also have learnt that aiming for the 'nearest town' to our accomodation doesn't work somewhere like Sicily.

Technology has succeeded in exactly replicating a human's map reading prowess. Unfortunately, Heather is the exact replicant of someone who is utterly pish at it. Navigon, the manufacturers, proudly state that they use the same maps as Garmin. That's a bit like giving two people the same road atlas and expecting them both to choose the best route to a destination. The poor dear got horribly confused, sending us up streets barely wide enough for our tiny car, telling us to drive through no entry signs and finally, taking us down an alley too narrow to turn round in and commanding us to 'go straight on' - through a saftey barrier and down the set of steps on the other side. J, stunning me at every turn with her driving prowess and potty mouth, finally had enough and demanded we shut Heather the hell up - lo and behold our new tactic of using our eyes to find the nearest main road worked a treat and after what we thought would be the most stressful driving experience of the trip we were heading back down the mountain in search of our farm.

We paused only long enough to stop an take a photo or two of the town across the valley - when in a moment of karma my foot got caught in Heather's lead and off she went, flying from the windscreen, out the door and across the road. She turned back on again, but the tension in the atmosphere was palpable as we drove off again. We were angry with her for getting us lost; she now bore a grudge for what she obviously felt was an overly aggressive response from me. Without a road atlas, we were going to be in for a tense tour.

Sicily part one

It's surprising how little of the excitement in my life actually makes it onto the hallowed posts of STTR. For something that is meant, in part, to document this period of my existence, I rarely have the enthusiasm or inclination after an event to launch into grand detailed musings.

Sicily, however, was a trip we had been looking forward to since last December, and we crammed a hella lot into our week in the sun. I want to share that for posterity, and as such have decided to do a post about each day we were there - in order to break up the monotony of both writing and reading about it. So where to begin?

02/07/09

Day one in Sicily. The usual godawful start to proceedings with a 3am alarm call. Entertainment provided by drunken businessmen on the 4.09am Clapham-Gatwick service (who the hell can get leathered until that time and still make it into work the next day?!).

It's as true for me as it is for the majority of other travellers, in that nothing really beats that moment of arriving somewhere for the first time. I remember reading my Rough Guide to New Zealand way back in 2001, about the view from the plane as it arcs over the bay on final approach to Auckland - and then being almost beside myself with excitement as I looked through my Air New Zealand window to see it glistening beneath me.

Arrival in a strange land brings this amazing sense of the unknown, promises of adventure and the, well, foreign. I always stare out of the window of the plane as it taxis to the airport terminal, convincing myself that everything looks different to back home. No matter where it is - the vehicles are different, the airport workers are different, all is exotic and strange and not at all like home. In actual fact, of all man-made locations on earth, airports are probably the most stupefyingly generic - in fact they're actually designed to look the same so that people don't get disorientated or lost and end up being cavity-searched in the middle of the runway, rather than queueing for passport control.

No matter. Blessed with a friendly and altogether far-too-posh sounding Easyjet pilot on the way over ("for those of you on the left hand side of the plane, you may want to look out of your windows in a few moments as we pass Mont Blanc - I'll just drop the wing a little to give you a better look"), we landed in Palermo in the blazing heat of a July afternoon. A slow train journey into the city centre later (It's so Italian! The train is just sitting at a platform whilst that guy debates the necessity to buy a ticket with the inspector! Darling - the camera!!) and we'd arrived.

Palermo. The very name is enough to conjure up thoughts of bustling traffic, Il Padrino and shouty men doing business in medieval side streets.

We timed things to perfection, lugging our suitcases from central station, up Via Roma to our guest house - arriving a full 10 minutes after the start of the siesta. What to do? Faced with 5 hours to kill, 35C heat and some very heavy baggage, we did what any self-respecting Brit abroad would do. We found the nearest bar.

Dawdling over 2 beers by the Teatro Massimo allowed us to slowly get accustomed to the fact we were in Sicily at long last. After 5 months of abstinence, I succumbed far too bloody quickly to the thought of a cigarette but hey, I was trying to fit in. And something about smoking in that situation just seemed to make sense.



Having been politely offered the bill without asking (we were either drinking too much or too slowly, we couldn't work out which), we tottered back in the direction of our hostel. We were in for a shock.

Booking accomodation via Hostelworld.com, it appears, is no guarantee as to the quality of the establishment. We'd booked a double room with shared bathroom for a reasonable EUR 23.00 per person per night. All we wanted was it to be clean and for the air conditioning to work.

Imagine our surprise, then, as we walked up the stairs and into the foyer of the Palazzo Salvona. This ain't no hostel. This is plush.

The guest house is in one of the massive tenement apartments just off Via Roma, one of the main shopping streets in Palermo. It's been rennovated to an exceptionally high standard and our room, for which we had paid a relative pittance, had a huge bed, sofa, effective aircon and two huge windows (well, french doors really) which opened out onto balconies. Amazing. I highly recommend staying there if you're ever in Palermo - although ensure you get a room on the second floor, not the third (of which more later). The "shared bathroom" was next to our room. In fact, we had a his and hers as there were two. I expected a row of sinks and a couple of communal showers and toilet cubicles - these were palatial self-contained bathrooms. Go in, lock the door, and the whole place is your oyster. Have a little dance if you want to.

Following a recommendation from the receptionist, we found ourselves in Piazza Bellini later that evening, sitting outside a pizza restaurant and surrounded by Moorish architecture and neo-classical statues. A few Birra Morettis and a massive feed later, it seemed almost fitting when a busker turned up and started playing jazz on a trumpet. Less expected was when he launched into a lounge version of the theme from the Godfather. If the respectable men in suits at the next table took offence, they certainly didn't show it.

Ok Go

I think I've seen a video like this somewhere before, but to have a band doing a choreographed treadmill dance whilst singing their song.... genius.

Final Cut

I told J the other day that this 1998 Brit Flick (starting the 'Brit Pack' at the time - Jude, Sadie, Ray et al) is one of only two films I hadn't previously heard of that turned out to be really good. The other is Glory, a drama about the American Civil War with Matthew Broderick and Denzel Washington that I subsequently found out had won Oscars and shit.

Anyway, I've bought Final Cut on DVD from Amazon and am about to watch it with her - I really hope it's not utter twaddle like the other Jude Law film which we saw recently and prompted the initial conversation. As a rule, if you have never heard of a film until it's on DVD, it means it's pish and has gone straight to the 2009 equivalent of the Woolies bargain bin.

My Blueberry Nights is one such film. 2 hours of our lives we can never reclaim. I may sue.

Back to normality

After what seems like a month, I returned to work today from annual leave. And woah, as if it wasn't a mere 2 hours before I'd started feeling like I never left. There were a few exciting developments though - not least the arrival of a Dyson AirBlade in the toilet. This represents a bit of a radical departure into "high quality fixtures and fittings" for the toilet in question, given that the bogs don't flush properly and the water from the taps sprays all over one's crotch should you stand too close to the sink. It resulted in me going to the toilet about 4 times today though just to try it out. All good for the hygiene in this Swine Flu conscious age, I suppose.

Graduation day

Portsmouth Guildhall. A suitably impressive location to congratulate one of the country's newest Masters of Geohazard Assessment.

God I'm knackered. Too much booze last night catching up with a long lost mate, too much touristy wandering about today and not enough sleep in between. Good, then, that I've got to get up at 6 in the morning to drive to Portsmouth.

It is good actually, given the reason for our trip to the seaside (and presence in our flat of a variety of family members) is the long awaited graduation of J from her Masters. I'll be welling up in my chair, if I'm not snoring and dribbling down the shoulder of the person next to me. Go J! Woot!

Back in Blighty

Woot! Am back from my travels. Now halfway through my hols, preparing for the imminent arrival of J's sister tomorrow and my mum on Wednesday - it's 'the graduation' on Friday.

Sicily was absolutely amazing - I beseech everyone who reads this to visit. I'm not skillful enough with the written word to convey everything we experienced, but I will try over the next few days. But then, it's a bit like the photos we took - whilst they give a flavour of what it was like, they don't compare to actually being there. Like everything in life - you've gotta actually do it to experience it.

Since getting back we've been at the itunes festival to see La Roux, who was quite good, although Dan Black, the support act, impressed us more. Funny - you could tell it was being filmed for telly - the whole thing was slicker than just about any gig I've been to before despite only being in front of a couple of hundred people. It's on ITV2 on Thursday if you fancy catching it.

Will be back presently to fill you in on endless photos and the type of chat you normally only get subjected to on a packed tube around the South Kensington area ("oh, you simply must visit this delightful farmhouse in the mountains en route to Catania - it's delightful"). Just to warn you - one of our hosts insisted on us having dinner with them (including olive oil and figs that they grew themselves) and invited their next door neighbours - a 70-something couple who spoke only traditional Sicilian. Yep, I'm gonna be that smug. Not intentionally, you understand. It just happened.