415: The Southern cousins

On 17th and 18th July, on the way North to Scotland, I visited as many of my Northern cousins as I could. These were all from my Dad's side of the family. Last Saturday, in an attempt to be impartial, I visited my Southern cousins - from my Mum's side of the family. Here is a sanitized picture of 10 of my Southern cousins lined up as though we're about to do the conga dance.

I've blanked their faces because I hadn't asked their permission to publish them on FB. These days, when every company seems to know every last detail about every person, I'm not sure I even had to ask their permission but it's only good manners not to plaster people's pictures all over the internet willy-nilly. N.B. my military background wanted 'tallest on the right, shortest on the left' but I was overruled and we are grouped by seniority!

It was great to spend some time with both the Northern and the Southern cousins. I missed one of the Buckleys because he now lives in New Zealand. Perhaps a little trip out there in the not too-distant future?

I spent Saturday night in the Clarendon hotel in Blackheath and early on Sunday morning got up for a run around Blackheath and into Greenwich park. It was magnificent. Stupidly I didn't take my phone with me so I've nicked these pics off Flickr. Greenwich park - the home of the zero meridian and boasting tremendous views down to the Thames and Canary Wharf on the other side of it. None of those high-rise office commercial buildings were there when I was growing up in this part of London. There's progress!

On Monday, a trip to the passport office at Peterborough to pay an arm and a leg for a 4-hour passport. Actually an arm and a leg and £6 as they wanted me to give them a different set of photos - they couldn't believe the first set! It was a bit nerve-wracking sitting in the booth watching the message "not suitable for a passport" coming up. You can have up to 3 tries before you have to press print but all 3 attempts said "not suitable". What could I do but print them off. Luckily those awfully nice passport office people accepted them and I now have two passports, in case one needs to be away to have a visa added at the same time as I need a passport to travel somewhere else.  

Yesterday I flew to Salou and had 'fun and games' with the train from Barcelona Sants to Salou. On the train, off the train, on the train. Another story for another day. Here is a pic of the information board at Cambridge railway station

Today's video is the old "Yes Minister" sketch about the European Union.

414: A bridge too far...

Went for a walk around Strath Brora on Monday. (Strath is a Scottish/English word for a broad mountain valley). A fox ran out from the side of the road and then ran along in front of the car for a few hundred metres as we were driving to the start. (Note for Gwen & Clive: this townie knew it was a fox as Alisdair told me it was 😁) 
We weren't going fast as it is single track road out in the hills. Took us longer to get to the start than we had intended as both of us had maps that stopped a few miles short of our FUP (once upon a time it was military jargon to mean 'forming up point' I see it now also means 'Fair Usage Policy'!). We eventually discovered our mistake and turned back. We parked the car, had a quick caffeine fix and set off. The walk was just over 11 miles and took a little over 4 hours. It was over a mix of road, path and track. The scenery was magnificent. The weather was kind to us all the way round. A bonus in the Highlands of Scotland. The legs were pleased when we got to the end.

Off for a pint and a game of pool in the evening, walking/waddling down the high street as if we were practising for a grant from the Ministry of Silly Walks (see video). 

 

small lakes in the hills are called lochans	the long and winding road...
	a cairn in the foreground and unsightly wind turbines in the background. They seem to be everywhere in Great Britain.

413: Golspie

No blog for over a month. Sorry.

I'm halfway through my annual Summer visit to Golspie. In the last 46 years I have only missed one or two Summer visits. It's not that I always like to holiday in the same place but these are duty visits as much as anything else. Mother-in-law has lived here all her life. (cue to the 2 Ronnies joke. Q:have you lived here all your life? A: not yet.)

I try to get out and about as much as I can while I'm here and this visit is no exception. I drove down to Inverness on the first day - the capital of the Highlands. It used to take almost two hours to drive to Inverness as the A9 trunk road followed the contours of the coast but over the years three bridges have been added and the journey more closely follows the route a crow might take. On a good day it takes an hour but only if you are lucky enough not to be stuck behind slow-moving lorries or caravans.

Dornoch firth bridge

Cromarty firth bridge

Kessock bridge

I've been for two walks (so far), the first one into the hills although time was short so I only got as far as the point where the cycle track crosses the foot path. Still, a nice view down onto the village.

Yesterday I had a pleasant walk along the beach, from Brora to Golspie. A distance of about 6 miles. A lovely view of Dunrobin castle en passant. 

The video clip to finish off today's blog is all about "a wee hoosie in the hielans". Lyrics included to help with understanding! Sassenachs may still struggle, even with the help of the lyrics. It's easier for me, I've done the course!

412: Defence Discount Service

This particular blog is exclusively aimed at my UK military colleagues (serving or retired). At the risk of 'teaching grandmother to suck eggs' I wanted to draw your attention to the Defence Discount Service. Just in case you weren't aware of it.

The card has been around for a few years but I had always discarded the notion of applying for one because it isn't free! Recently I came to my senses and applied. It costs £4.99 and lasts for 5 years. Come on, what's £4.99. That can be recouped in very short order having nabbed a few discounts. Recently I finally decided to apply. They didn't accept the initial proof of service that I sent so I reinforced it with an Army Identity Card dated 1984 and a picture of me with Her Majesty the Queen. Between them those two pieces of evidence did the trick!

The 'big' stores, Debenhams, M&S etc don't accept the card - surprise, surprise, but there are a few hundred others that do. I was particularly pleased to see Patisserie Valerie on the list - who doesn't like to stop for a coffee and cake whilst out shopping.

Finally, Oxford Street having exhausted me, I went for a liquid lunch with my sister and we ended up sharing another goldfish bowl sized G&T.

Scrolling through Face Book this morning I was amused by a comment from another military veteran about his time in the service "it was all a game, to make you the person you are today".

411: Three Queens in three days

Saturday's Queen: 
On Saturday evening I watched highlights on television of Her Majesty the Queen taking part in the Trooping the Colour ceremony. This takes place every year to celebrate her official birthday and, if I remember correctly from 2 days ago, this is the 63rd Trooping the Colour ceremony she has attended. Incredible! Nobody in the world does pomp and pageantry as well as we Brits.

Sunday's Queen: 

I went to Barcelona to watch Queen (+ Alan Lambert) in concert in the Palau Sant Jordi. Turned out to be not such a good idea and I left after 15 minutes. Turns out that in such an enormous stadium the stage was that far away it was like watching ants performing. 

 But hearing was a different story. It seemed to me that they were shouting instead of singing. I have absolutely no idea why the volume needs to be so loud. A bit of a paradox really - old people sometimes need to be shouted at so they can hear. Younger people, the majority of the audience, can, in theory, hear perfectly well. Why do they need to be shouted at? I don't understand. Call me an old fogey if you will, (all right, you're an old fogey), but I found myself wishing I was at an Andre Rieu concert or listening to some light classics in the Royal Albert Hall. I love all the old Queen songs but in future I shall watch them on You Tube with me choosing the volume.

A couple more gripes, while I'm in the mood! I had thought about buying some 'merchandise', a Queen T-shirt or something similar. I nearly fell over when I saw the prices. 40-50 Euros. Almost a twelfth of my pension, just for a T-shirt! I don't think so. How can they justify that? They charge what the market will bear, I suppose. I paid 7.50 for a hot dog and a bottle of water. Excessive but not unexpected for somewhere with a captive audience. Next, and final, probably, grumble: I had gone early to do a recce of the joint (time spent on reconnaissance  is never wasted). The plan was to buy some food at a roadside cafe before I went into the stadium proper. The plan was dashed as there were no roadside cafes, no roadside anything for that matter. Palau Sant Jordi was built for the 1992 Spanish Olympic games. It is the largest indoor stadium in Spain with  seating capacity of 17,960. It is part of the Olympic complex, located on Montjuic hill in splendid isolation. 30 minutes walk from my hotel, and 45 minutes back, in the dark when you head off in the wrong direction looking for a bus stop. Plenty bus stops, very few buses. Having arrived there early I discovered the outer gates to the complex weren't going to be opened until 7.30. It completely slipped my mind that this was a Spanish 7.30 i.e nearly 7.50. Then, once we got into the grounds, we had to stand around, in lose formation, for almost another hour until they opened the doors to the building. Thank God I'm not currently disabled and Thank God it wasn't raining, as it had been earlier. This is another aspect of the evening I don't understand: if they had opened the doors earlier then the cash tills could have been ringing earlier. OK, last moan: the concert was due to start at 9.30. It was 9.55 before Queen deigned to make an appearance. How dare they, with the money we had paid for the seats. Surely he who pays the piper calls the tune. Or so it was once upon a time.  Can I get on with my day now I've got all that off my chest?

Monday's Queen

On this day, in 2013, my dear old Mum passed away. God bless her. Here is a picture of her on her wedding day (1945?) being given a traditional rolling pin by her Mum to keep Dad in order. Rest in Peace Mum (and Dad, and Nan).

410: An Englishman abroad

I have to confess to being a bit of a stereotypical Englishman abroad - at least as far as food is concerned. Yesterday I had two language exchange lessons, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. Being 'in the mood for food' after the first lesson and before the second I opted for a 'full English' in my favourite Indian restaurant here in Salou and a Burger King 'meal' for an early 'dinner'. It was an almost full English, there being a distinct lack of black pudding & hash brown but it still hit the spot. It's not that I don't try local Spanish food, I had some 'Salpicon de Marisco' at the Freesia group lunch last Thursday. And then I had the pleasure of a light bout of diarrhoea on Saturday. Did my British bacteria take exception to the Spanish food? I shall never know. All I know is I had my own personal Brexit on Saturday!

 

Talking about toilet paper, which I suppose I was, albeit indirectly, I noticed recently that Salou local council has had to take appropriate steps to stop its toilet paper being misappropriated. How desperate must some people be to steal the bog roll? Of course, if you're really desperate you just unroll it all and leave the empty tube padlocked. I have no idea what nationality these potential miscreants are, in fact I think all nationalities have their share of poor people. How sad.

409: Prim and proper

prim and proper: (of a person) very correctly behaved and easily shocked by anything that is rude. Perhaps that was me once but that would have been a long time ago.

What prompted me to write this particular heading? I was in Reus the other day and walked past the statue of General Prim. He was born in Reus in 1814 and shot by unknown assassin(s) in Madrid in 1870, aged 56.

I liked not just the statue but the Spanish architecture in the background.Reus is full of narrow streets and I often get lost, Wednesday was no exception. In a way it was deliberate because that's the best way of finding new and interesting things. (Short of going into a tourist office and asking!). The tourist office is just next to another interesting statue in Reus "the statue of the giant Indian"

The architecture in the background is not quite so impressive. 

My last picture today was taken in another square in Reus. The yellow ribbons, in loops, and the new Catalonian flags with one star, show that Catalunya has certainly not abandoned its claim for independence from the rest of Spain.

And finally, May the fourth be with you... Here is a trailer for the new Star Wars film: