Europe

Nothing compares to you

From Limerick we headed straight for the Ring of Kerry. Not so much a ring as a coastal tourist drive through County Kerry. We stopped at a service station for fuel and to stock up on snacks. It was well into the afternoon, so I also grabbed a roast chicken sandwich that had stuffing spread on the bread. It was scrumptious. We also discovered something else quite unusual. An outdoor laundromat. I saw a couple of these in London undercover next to a service station but this one seemed far away from anywhere people might live. I guess sitting in your car waiting for your washing feels safer than sitting inside some laundromats but most of those have attendants. I also don’t think I would trust leaving my laundry at a service station and coming back later.

The ring of Kerry starts away from the coast driving through (more) rolling green hills and farmland. The first stop on our journey wasn’t far into our trip. And it was a gem. Dan and I don’t often visit the more traditional museums and art galleries (although the Guggenheim is still on our list despite several visits to New York – to some degree for the architecture of the building). We (well mostly I) search for the weird, wonderful, whacky (and kitsch) wonders of the world. We went on the journey through communication ride at Epcot and, the kitschiest one yet – the swine museum in Stuttgart Germany (see my 2015 blog for that one). The bog museum, on the ring of Kerry, certainly fit this description. While not quite reaching the heights of the swine museum, it ticked all the boxes. Apparently, the park really kicks off in April with lots of visitors. On the day we visited, the signs advised that we go into the bar to pay to get in. Which we did. And we were then free to wander around the bog village on our own. Dan was pretty happy when we first entered as there were a pair of resident Irish wolfhounds craving a pat. Their inclusion was not well explained but they have some kind of role in the collection of peat moss from the bogs and are alongstanding bree Peat moss is still used for heating in Ireland. It is essentially fossilised compost built up over thousands of years. And it smells like sewerage. I noticed the catholic area of Derry was right near a peat bog. There were also goats too. And the ponies were advertised as the once extinct Irish peat bog pony (although they looked just like normal ponies to me). But the inclusion of the animals to make this place fun for kids belied the true attraction. The village was setup as a replica of a peat bog village, complete with loads of old stuff presumably the proprietor had lying around in a shed. And manikins. You know you are entering the type of museum or ride that fits our description of weird and whacky when there are manikins to tell the story. And better yet there were sound effects, including a mooing fibreglass cow. There were signs discussing life in the village, the Irish famine and its effect on the peat bog village and many, many houses and stables and of course manikins – human and animal. Despite being surrounded by the boglands Ballintleevae, there was virtually no information about the peat bogs themselves – why are they there? what led to Ireland being littered with them? and how the peat is retrieved and processed for burning? They did have a small pile of peat moss that you could pick up and look at.  It was like petrified compost and it smelt terrible. The Irish catholic area that formed the base for the IRA in Derry was next to a bogland and had that same stench. Once we were done in the village, we returned to the pub to ask about the advertised souvenir shop, I couldn’t see anything in the pub and was expecting to be shown to a small shelf of a couple of trinkets and hoping for a post card. What I found was an Aladdin’s cave. The proprietor slid back two barn doors to reveal and expansive and very well stocked souvenir shop, that was probably as big as the pub itself. He let us wander about in there on our own. I found my postcard and a fetching tweed page boy cap.

We bid the bog village farewell and continued on our drive through the ring of Kerry. Not long after this, we hit our first Atlantic ocean view for the day. While most of the Irish coastline is made of sheer cliff faces that reach straight up to velvety green grass, this part of the country also boasts some sandy beaches. Not that they are all bright white sand and sunshine – you would need a wetsuit to swim here most of the year and I think that is largely what the surfers here do. And it is a growing pastime. But the beaches are beautiful in their own right. As you make your way around the ring, you drive through picturesque villages. When we reached the southern part of the ring, we were absolutely floored by the majestic views. No photo you have seen gives this landscape justice. The steep green hills, rocky outcrops, whitewashed farm houses and rolling blue ocean beyond are just perfection.

As we neared the end of the ring of Kerry and headed away from the coast, it was getting quite late so we decided to pull over in the village of Kenmare and grab some dinner. We stumbled upon the Michelin starred no. 35 and given it was still quite early in restaurant time (old people and children dinner time) we were able to get a table, despite the host joking with us about how there was no way we could get a reservation. I started with a mushroom soup – wild mushrooms to be exact, and it was delectable, followed by a slow cooked shoulder of beef, slow cooked in Guinness (and some other herbs). It was fantastic, paired with roost vegetables, cauliflower, hazelnuts and garlic potatoes. Some great flavours, done exceptionally well. Dan’s choices were a bit more adventurous –homemade pork sausage with peanut pear and chilli vinaigrette and pork belly with XO sauce and miso carrots and broccoli. It wasn’t quite what he expected but it was wonderful. The meal also came with the restaurant’s own baked bread and butter, which was fantastic. We also had their crème brulé for dessert which came with rhubarb – Dan rated it pretty highly on his crème brulee scale. Stopping for dinner meant that we drove the last portion of our journey in the dark. Here you aren’t really looking for native animals crossing the road. Apart from deer of course. But you are likely to see any number of sheep, goats and cows. And hedges. The roads aren’t very wide. Hedge rows are a real thing here and they form the front boundary to most properties, making the skinny roads even skinner and more precarious in the dark. There is also quite a bit of new road construction going on and google isn’t always up to date with the re-routing and detours. Eventually we arrived at our lodgings for the night in Cork. We parked and went straight to bed.

On my last visit to Cork I was sick and headed straight to a greasy spoon across the road to have a (fried) roast chicken dinner. I was a bit disoriented (it had been 14 years) but I am pretty sure the greasy spoon was no longer. We went a bit more upmarket for our first meal in Cork on this trip. And in comparison to my previous blue sky visit, it was grey, cold (and of course rainy). We rugged up and wandered across the river to the town centre, landing at the Cork markets. A bit like Adelaide’s central market but with more options (and less German focused). This market is also much older. And they have built a kind of loft in the original building housing a café, which prides itself on using the supplies from the local vendors. The fresh eggs, bread and smoked salmon in my scrambled with salmon, and Dan’s scrambled were a delight and just the right thing to steady us for walking around in the cold drizzle. And the breakfast came with a large dish of individually wrapped butter. As outlined in previous posts, one of the best things about breakfast in Ireland – whether it is a fry up from a greasy spoon or something more upmarket from a hipster café, you never have to ask for butter. There is a lesson in there about natural.

It was mostly dry with the occasional drizzle so we decided to brave it and walk around through the historic district. And another museum. Cork is where Ireland’s butter was exported from and the city was home to a butter market in centuries passed. And yes, there is a butter museum. And yes, I made Dan go. And yes, just like the pineapple train at the Big Pineapple, he learned things about butter that he didn’t know. We were the only ones in the museum when we arrived so we sat through the entire 20 minute film about the history of Cork (and Ireland’s) butter industry. When we were about halfway through the film, a kiwi came into the museum (probably because he too had a family connection to his country’s butter industry that can be traced back to Ireland.) In any case, other highlights from the butter museum, apart from of course the variety of old implemets for churning butter by hand, were the stamps to make your own butter wrapper (I am sure it was aimed at kids but when has that ever stopped me), the retro advertising and the barrel of fossilised butter found in a peat bog, bringing my two favourite weird and wonderful Irish museums together. [Boys from the County Hell – The Pogues – I rediscovered the Pogues after meeting Dan – their brand of folk infused punk music is intoxicating and an obvious influence for some of the other later bands I love – Dropkick Murphys, Flogging Molly etc. People talk about Dylan being hard to understand as a singer but I think Shane McGowan (especially when he is drunk which is most of the time) is equally unintelligible but both have a place in my playlist.)

From here, with rainier weather looming, we decided to head to Blarney castle – this was my second visit here and they had done a bit to improve the infrastructure surrounding the castle in the past decade and a half. As we climbed inside the towers leading to the top of the castle, snow began to fall. It wasn’t cold enough for it to really settle on the ground, but it was definitely snowing – white fluffy stuff was landing on my coat before melting away. Dan decided he didn’t need to lean over backwards to kiss the blarney stone. My need to do it a second time was questioned but I did it anyway. After the castle (and be assured Blarney castle is very much a ruin) we headed for the second attraction here. The owners of the castle have done a lot to develop the gardens around the castle- with the snow coming down and the sleet turning to quite heavy rain (as well as it being that wet cold that just feels colder) we decided to brave just one of the most interesting of the gardens – the poison garden, which had all manner of poisonous plants growing including hemlock and other potions of the dark arts. Along with cannabis and tobacco. After that we headed to the on-site café for a warming (yet underwhelming) hot chocolate. Then it was back to the car and the warmth of our hotel room.

We decided to brave the weather once more time, heading back to the central market to collect some goodies for a hotel room picnic. We still had the smoked cheese from Cliffs of Moher, so we grabbed another local blue cheese, an assorted packet of locally smoked salamis, a salmon dip, an assorted tub of olives, some soda bread crackers and some locally produced chutney.  We rugged up in our room as the rain pelted down outside and enjoyed a glorious picnic of local produce. Then it was just time to chill (or snooze or blog depending on your persuasion).

Later that evening, the rain abated for enough time for us to grab a quick dinner at the pub up the road. It wasn’t the most stellar meal I have had in Ireland but the beer was good – their own stout – and my cider roast chicken with potato mash and gravy was pretty decent. The gravy was what I was really after and it was pretty good but it just wasn’t up there with some of the other meals I have enjoyed. After a restful night’s sleep, we awoke to yet more rain and set out for Dublin, only to turn around about 25 miles into our journey (and just after we had paid the toll), realising we had left some crucial medication behind. The Metropole Hotel staff were fantastic. They checked the room for us and confirmed they had it. They also arranged for us to park in front of the hotel (which is in quite a busy location) so I could run in and get it. After that we were actually on our way to Dublin in the rain, with one or two small detours, and after having paid the toll three times!

Fridge Magnets – 5     Postcards – 11     T-shirts – 2   Christmas decorations – 4   Countries – 4

The Fields of Athenry

Our first stop out of Galway was Athenry – principally to see the fields of Athenry – I am a big fan of the Dropkick Murphys version of this traditional Irish tune about a young man who stole corn to feed his family and was sent to Botany Bay, Australia. As it turned out, Athenry itself was pretty interesting. We walked around the cathedral ruins, the city walls and castle. It is amazing that city walls that are hundreds of years old just exist as a part of the typography of the town. The fields of Athenry, however, had all but disappeared in this expanding town, with a cookie-cutter housing development going up between the freeway and the village. 

From Athenry we started heading towards the Cliffs of Moher, stopping off to look at yet another castle – the Dunguaire Castle. We pulled over on the side of the road and walked back for some pics. The theme of tractors continued. They were everywhere – mostly just driving a short distance, sometimes with a bale of hay and probably between different plots of their own land where the tourist roads are the only access. You see beware of tractors signs everywhere in Ireland so after a while it just becomes part of every drive (except on the freeways). Not long after we headed upward on a steep and winding road that would have been heaps of fun in the mini. And the scenery was even more picturesque than the previous day. I do recommend going north to south in Ireland as the scenery just gets more stunning each day. As you get to the top of the plateau the trees disappear – It looks drier up here because it is slightly less green but as it turns out that has much more to do with the fact that there are peat bogs up here where the water sits. You are so high up here that the mist is settling below you. You start to head down a bit as you approach the coastline and the spectacular Cliffs of Moher. 

Like so many of the tourist attractions in Ireland, the cliffs are well set up for visitors – the carpark is on the other side of the highway and you walk across to the tourist complex that is nestled into the hill. It was cold and windy so ended up being the first outing for my beanie/scarf/glove combo on this trip. When you reach the cliffs themselves there are wide paths with stairs up each side so you can see the cliffs from both sides as they form a small cove with a single rock formation surrounded by water just out from the main cove – a little bit like the (remaining) apostles on Australia’s Great of Ocean Road –  and very strong solid barriers. In the visitor centre you can see photos from the 1920s of people picnicking on the edge of the cliffs. Not something you could do today. There is also a very strong culture of music here dating back to the turn of the century and once  you are standing near the cliffs, you can imagine the ethereal sounds of celtic music would add another dimension to the experience. The cliffs themselves are spectacular. And while there are other possibly more grand and impressive coastal rock structures in the world, the rolling green hills of Ireland and the deep blue of the wild Atlantic ocean make this perfect. On one side there is what looks like a cross between a lighthouse and a castle tower – another folly – built as a gentleman’s club (read mancave rather than burlesque establishment) according to the local oracle. Like all Irish people we spoke to he had a relative in Australia. And apparently, they all live in Melbourne. He was impressed with my historical knowledge when I told him the story of my (catholic of Irish extraction) Dad’s disappointment that he wasn’t given a saint’s name and my grandfather’s response that “Brian Boru was the king of Ireland and that is just as good.” After walking up both sides of the cliffs, we headed to the gift shop and purchased some suitable tourist tat and some locally produced smoked cheese.

When we do road trips, we do two things – sample the local snacks (except in Australia where they are the same countrywide) and collect local produce to have a picnic (which sometimes ends up being in our hotel room. On the snack front, in Ireland and the UK so far our faves have been the oven roasted peanuts, particularly the Scottish and Northern Irish co-op brand which are so much better roasted than in Australia, and M&S foods cheese and pumpkin seed crispbread. Along with Pret a Manger, better Guinness and roasted peanuts, the other UK chain we could benefit from having is M&S foods. They do a great range of pee or semi prepared foods as well as good snacks. [I don’t like Mondays – The Boomtown Rats – The only well known song from the Irish band whose singer is probably better known as the force behind Band Aid and Live Aid, hanging out with Ireland’s other favourite musical son, giving his daughters ridiculous names and raising his ex-wife’s child with Michael Hutchence after their untimely demise. This song about the senselessness of a school shooting is a solid tune that resonates. The Boomtown Rats were a pretty solid band, There was just a lot else going on in the early 80s.]

From the cliffs we headed toward Limerick with more stunning views and emerald green countryside unfurling before us. I had picked Limerick primarily because of its name and proximity. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one. When we arrived at our lodging for the night, Absolute Hotel, we had a delayed check in because a tour bus group was in front of us.

Unlike the tour group, we decided against dinner in the hotel restaurant and headed out in search of more local sustenance. Granted it was Monday evening at the end of winter but in contrast to Galway the streets here were deserted. We wandered up a cobblestone path with single story row houses that looked like they could have once had thatched roofs on one side, and the ruins of a cathedral on the other. Our dinner destination was Katy Daley’s, which looked a bit like a tourist trap with an outdoor beer garden with bunting. Inside though it was like a local with the bartender obviously knowing many of the patrons and the food was good home cooking. Dan had the steak and Guinness pie – I think he is on a quest to find the world’s best. And I had the stuff of childhood comfort food – freshly baked glazed ham with cabbage, an assortment of other (root) vege and parsley (white) sauce. And of course a big pile of mash. Our family had corned beef instead of ham but the accompaniments were all the same. We tried the sticky toffee pudding for dessert, which came layered with cream in a parfait. The date version doesn’t seem to be a thing here.

The next morning, we decided to stay in Limerick to tour the castle which opened at 10 so we took a leisurely stroll into town to have breakfast at Hook and Ladder, inside a home decor store. I decided I needed a break from eggs and potatoes so had the (semi-healthy) oatmeal which came with blueberries, apple compote and cinnamon sugar. Dan opted for the Benedict – he is searching for the best of these too and a scone with jam and cream (ditto). After breakfast we wandered around the town, which despite the castle lacked the tourist tat of other Irish towns. One of the things you see a lot of here are what, at first glance, look like over the top bridal stores but on closer inspection the white dresses in the window are actually communion dresses. Now I have watched a bunch of observational docos on Irish travellers (like the Amish this small, introspective but omnipresent culture fascinates me. Travellers go over the top for these occasions (and for teenage weddings) but given they make up 0.6% of the population, and the plethora of these stores, this is clearly more mainstream than I realised. They also advertise Irish dancing costumes.  Perhaps it is the time of year throughout lent in the lead-up to Easter, but it was only the white dresses on display.

From here we headed back across the river to the castle. St. John’s castle is a good one to visit as you get to see some of how the structure was put into action in battle. After a stroll through a museum detailing a particularly big battle at the castle, you get to do a subterranean tour through the castle’s foundations describing what was happening during the battle. You eventually resurface in the main square inside the castle wall, which has various entertainments for young ones like stocks you can put your head through. The day we visited they were filming a school play or concert or something in the square. You could also climb up into the main battlement towers – which was worth it for the views alone. You could see out over the city and the countryside beyond. From the castle we headed down the hill to check out the (relocated) treaty stone before bidding Limerick farewell and heading for the ring of Kerry.

Fridge Magnets – 5     Postcards – 8     T-shirts – 2   Christmas decorations – 3   Countries – 4

Driving in my car

I was hoping to sleep through to about 9am and kick the jetlag completely but unfortunately I awoke at 4:30am. Try as I might to get back to sleep it just didn’t happen. I went down for breakfast in the hotel about 7am. There is only so much you can do to screw up a buffet breakfast. And this hotel should just stick to brekkie – creamy scrambled eggs cooked just right, a Cumberland sausage, crisoy hash brown and really tasted baked tomatoes. The toast contraption, as usual was set so you had to cook the toast 3 times for it to be actually toast and the flat white came out of a pod machine – marginally better than the barista made one from yesterday. And what is with British bacon – so thick it has the texture of a kaesler chop rather than thin and crispy like we are used to. Had a hankering for vegemite but couldn’t find marmite (a poor substitute I know).

After breakfast, I packed up and headed across to the terminal to find the hire car counter, only to be greeted with a notice directing me to the shuttle bus. The rental process was smooth. I opted for zeroing out the excess. They do that automatically with bookings in the US. It means you don’t have to worry about someone backing into you or scratching the car. In the UK, the default option is a manual, which is fine by me – I would get more confused driving an auto. (Have been known to bring the car to an abrupt halt  while trying to put in the non-existenrt clutch)The main hitch was my inability to open the hatch on the little grey Hyundai they gave me. I worked it out with a bit of assistance then spent some time organising the seat, getting familiar with the controls, working out the navigation system and setting up Android Auto (because you’ve got to have tunes).

Then it was off to Bath. I was nervous about driving out of London and on the Motorway but it was much easier than I expected. The Hyundai is about the same size as the mini and its inbuilt satnav is really good. It gets up to pretty high speeds on the motorway but completely lacks any guts from a standing stop. (The mini would beat it hands down.) The motorway was less scary than I thought. There are four lanes and no shoulder. There are electronic signs across the motorway letting you know which lanes are open. If you break down or have an accident, you are supposed to get in the left lane. And then the signs above signify that it is closed. The signs are similar to the ones used on Sydney Harbour Bridge when they switch the direction of the lanes in peak hour. My observation is that the left lane is going slowe\r than the speed limit and this is where the trucks sit generally. The second lane is doing the speed limit usually either 60 or 70 miles per hour (96 or 112km). The third lane is going much faster than that (except for when there was a police car on the motoway) and th fourth lane is basically for those cars to overtake if someone is doing the speed limit in their lane. There wasn’t much to see on the M4 travelling  south except some quite beautiful autumn leaves. (Of course unlike the beautiful autumn foliage in my suburb at home, the autumnal trees here are indigenous to the country. [Sheena is a punk rocker – one of my fave Ramones tunes this is also on my work from home t-shirt adventure playlist on spotify. With 250 songs, it seemed like a good option for the roadtrip.]

Today was a short drive – about two and a half hours to Bath. I had a porsche following me on the last windy, slower part of the journey as I came into Bath, where I eventually arrived at Oldfields Guest House. We stayed here about nine years ago the night before our fateful trip to (not) see Madness. We also didn’t get to see any of Bath. I am here for three days and determined to change that. After maneuvring the car into the very tight parking spot (as you might expect) and unpacking what I needed from the boot into my small backpack, I wandered into town. It was around 4pm by this stage and had already started getting dark – I wandered up the main shopping mall. Much like Milan and many other shopping strips in Europe, the 200 year old buildings were filled with commercial reality – sure some of them were luxury labels but there was also a Krispy Kreme and a Maccas sitting uncomfortably in the architectural landscape. I walked past a few eateries but as I was a little bit grungy from the drive and pretty tired I opted for the cheap and cheerful rather than the Michelin starred. I settled on a Chinese noodle shop that seemed to be frequented by students. I order my crispy skin duck with wheat noodles and Chinese tea – total price 11 pounds – and then I went to an ATM in order to satisfy the cash only requirement of this establishment. Probably the first time I have used cash in about a year (apart from the work tuckshop and the coins for shopping trolleys. The trip to the ATM was worth it though. Those noodles were scrumptious. After dinner, I trekked back up the hill to the guest house trying to keep myself awake late enough to readjust my body clock to night owl status before the weekend.

Big jet plane

Travelling again internationally seems surreal. For the last few weeks I have been so busy getting to this point that apart from the extra organisation required – international vaccination certificate, UK COVID Locator form – and doing a couple of at home rapid antigen tests to make sure as far as possible, I don’t land in the UK with COVID – I haven’t really let myself think it would actually happen. But here I am at the international terminal at Sydney airport looking out at a very desolate runway. The constant hub, with planes lined up in what amounts to bumper to bumper traffic in aviation terms, is the antithesis of what it looks like now. There is evidence of the Qantas planes coming back into action in the holding yard, a couple of smaller jets at the gates and one or two dash taking off and landing. In a sign of the times, the only large aircraft are fedex cargo planes.

Th departure board in the lounge has just six flights for today – mine through Darwin tro London and flights to Shanghai, Beijing, Dubai, LA and Hong Kong. And the bonus of being amongst this small group of Australians willing to take the Rona gamble now the borders are open, is that I am currently sitting in the Qantas first class lounge in Sydney airport as the business lounge is currently closed. I was met at the desk by wait staff who offered me coffee and drinks brought to my seat. I asked for the traditional glass of pre-holiday sparkling and was asked if I would prefer champagne. (Yes please). The menu is designed and curated by Neil Perry. I can report the salt and pepper squid is fantastic.

And I am spending quite a bit of time in the lounge. Qantas advised that I should be at the airport at least four hours before my flight. My usual travelling partner having declined to take the rona gamble, was open to driving me to Sydney to catch the flight. I threw in a trip to the newly opened Chicago burger joint Five Guys in Penrith  and taking the spin in the mini to sweeten the deal (really it was partly for me to be able to get a bit more driving timer in the mini. We made good time, easily meeting the at least four hours window,. Problem was the Qantas check in counter wasn’t open until the four hour mark. It meant I was first in the queue.

At the moment you can’t complete your check in at home – Qantas checks your international vaccination certificate and whatever documents your destination requires manually – providing a signed check that you then present at your normal check in. As you would expect, it is taking a while to get all staff across what is needed for different flights and the attendant processing my docs was being trained on what was required– As I am flying direct to the UK through Darwin, I don’t have to provide a negative PCR test. For most destinations you do. I was thankful I had printed copies of these documents – it made things much easier. In the end it was pretty painless – this part took about five minutes. I suspect those behind me had a quicker process.

Then it was on to the check in desk. About two minutes here – I had checked in online so just a passport check, tagging my bags. (I forgot to put the electronic tag back on my backpack) and I was off into the Customs Hall. As I tend to book flights through from Canberra, this is usually where I start with the Sydney Airport departure process. The departure passenger cards have disappeared as have the cards from the smart gates. Now all you do is scan your passport and walk through the gate to have your face scanned  (you have to take your mask off for this). The whole process took about two minutes and most of that time was walking up to the smart gate.

From here it was on through security – again no lines. In fact it was  so quick  I didn’t have a chance to get myself organised between the passport check and the security check. laptops still have to be removed from your bag for international travel. This is easier with my new backpack with laptop sleeve and I have a process worked out now so this is all I have to remove. This check would have been quick too if it wasn’t for the lady in front of me that had no process. From here it was on through the duty free – I thought about looking for a new camera – mine has a habit of turning itself on in my handbag and draining the charge – but I hadn’t done any research and I just get bamboozled by the choice. And I don’t really need to carry duty free booze with me to London so I headed to the pleasant surprise of the First Class lounge. [Queen of Suffolk County – Dropkick Murphys – I haven’t been able to get this tune out of my head since the new dropkicks album dropped earlier this year. Usually that’s a bad thing. But much like Fat Boy Slim’s Rockefella Skank, I can’t imagine ever getting sick of this tune.]

After a (relatively) short hop to Darwin, which was long enough to feature a hot ,meal – Qantas are just starting to readjust so the choices weren’t stellar. I opted for the Indian vego option which ended up having more rice than a cheap Indian takeaway lunch box – we embarked for a stop in the temporary Qantas transit lounge. With the build up already started in Darwin, I had made better choies than my fellow passengers rugged up for a UK landing. I used the opportunity to change in the transit lounge. The plane was empty enough that there was a s[are seat between myself and the aisele passenger – an affable guy from Geelong who had travelled enough to know that as an aisle seat inhabitant, you would inevitably be awoken by the need for the window seat passenger to pee.. As we were in transit, this stop was also seamless – although we did need to take all our gear off the plane. The flight into London was uneventful – despite trying for the umpteenth time to sleep on an international flight, I couldn’t. Fortunately there were enough choices on the entertainment system to keep me amused. I started with East of Eden – which I had never managed to see from end to end, despite my James Dean obsession. Then I discovered an unfamiliar TV drama – City on a Hill – it stars Kevin Costner and is set in Chicago in the early 90s, it is a crime drama made in 2019. Reminded me of Brotherhood -definitely worth a look. I got through about three episodes and then turned my attention to Gangs of London – which is ultraviolent in the best way. It looks like it was made by Guy Ritchie. After that I wanted something a bit lighter. About 10 minutes of the David Schwimmer MI5 comedy Intelligence was too much. Cardboard cut out stereotypes in all the worst ways and without the irony required to make this work.  From there I revisited Once Upon a Time in Hollywood – in the best Tarantino tradition there are lots of nuances you pick up on the second run through the alternate universe fairytale of the Manson Family’s murder spree in Hollywood. By that stage I was too tired to keep my eyes open. I am not normally a fan of Podcasts or audio books (although I have thought about turning this blog into one) but the late stage of a 24 hour flight is where they (or my music collection) are a good fallback. I listened to a couple I had queued but then ultimately returned to my spotify playlist.  Two hot meals on this 16 + hour leg that took us over Hong Kong, China including Guangzhou and Wuhan, Mongolia and the wilds of Russia coming back down into London via q flight Finland, Sweden, and the Netherlands, presumably in an effort to avoid. the conflict on the Polish Border.

Arrival into London was pretty smooth – the UK has been letting people in for a while now so there was no requirement to show your vaccination status or UK locator for as boit are linked to your passport. What that meant was that you could use the e-gates. Only problem was with a plane load of Australian citizens and the EU and Britain using this system, we had to queue probably for around 15 minutes. The one thing you do have to remember to do in these COVID times is remove your mask for the smart gate/e-gate. After collecting my bag (last off as it was first on of course), and the long trek through the tunnel from terminal 3 to terminal 2, I arrived at the hotel, where they let me check in 8 hours early and upgraded me to a superior room. Sweet.

Goodbye to old England (hopefully not forever)

After checking out I had just four or five hours before I had to head to the airport so I decided to try and cram in as much as I could. My first stop was Shepherd’s Bush. Why? To set eyes on the infamous Shepherd’s Bush Empire where many of my favourite bands have played. And what did I find right next door? An Australian-themed bar. It’s not hard to tell you are in Aussie territory in London.

 

And it isn’t difficult to see why so many Australians live in London. London is easy. There are loads of other Australians and the English really aren’t that different to us. Sure there are more things happening in London than Canberra and probably Sydney or Melbourne but largely the society functions the same way ours does. The supermarkets carry the same products (except they don’t have vegemite or Tim Tams and the vegetables are all crap). The tube makes London incredibly easy to negotiate – there is really no need for a car if you stay in the city (and then you don’t have to pay the congestion tax). They even have a similar sense of humour (we love their comedy, they love our soaps). Sure the money takes a while to work out and the exchange rate is awful but if you’re living there and getting paid in pounds, it’s going to be worth a lot more in Australia. And it’s safe. Simply put, of all the places I visited, London, despite its size, was the easiest.

 

Next stop was another AbFab spot – Holland Park. With tree-lined avenues of immaculate terraces, this was the perfect place to choose as Eddie’s home. An opulent suburb where only the best will do. I headed back towards Oxford Street for a final walk around and up a side street, in a dodgy little off-licence, I struck gold. I had searched high and low for a London punk postcard. I had received quite a lot of these from friends who did the London thing in the late 80s and early 90s. In fact I still have one particularly amusing one that was sent to my brother and I, featuring London punks with haircuts very similar to the ones we were sporting at the time. The sender had been away for some time and had no way of knowing this. It was a complete fluke. The closest thing I had found in the previous five days was a bumming around in London postcard with naked bottoms. But there it was, staring back at me on the creaky postcard stand that looked like it hadn’t been touched in months – a London punk postcard. Needless to say, I bought several. [‘Gyroscope’ – The Tea Party – this is my favourite Tea Party album where they began to mix some electronic music into their repertoire of Morrison style vocals and eclectic string instruments]

 

After that I headed back to my fave spot – Camden Town – for a last shot at shopping. Despite the fact that I had said I wasn’t going to buy anything else, I decided to go back and have another look in the Doc Martens shop. As I already own three pairs of eight-hole boots (cherry red, purple and black) and a pair of T-bar shoes, I shouldn’t really have been looking for another pair of docs. Of course my sneaker collection is quite a bit larger than that (currently 10 pairs, mostly Adio, in various stages of wear). I couldn’t help myself. I bought my first pair of grown-up docs – high-heeled ankle boots with zips up the side (and air-ware soles). When I went back to check out of the hotel later, the lady on the desk reminded me about how I wasn’t going to buy anything else.

 

From Camden, I headed to London’s palace of tack-o-rama, Madame Tussauds. I had been fascinated with the place as a kid but still hadn’t decided whether I would visit. In the end I didn’t. It was quite a process. You had to but a ticket and then wait up to 45 minutes to get in. I was told the exhibition takes an hour-and-a-half to go through and I didn’t really have that kind of time. There were also three really big school groups which wasn’t really the calm experience I was looking for ahead of a 22-hour flight. I decided the best tactic was to head back to Notting Hill, order a beer in the pub and scrawl out some messages on my remaining postcards.

 

Once I was done, I grabbed my bags and headed to Heathrow. Like a good backpacker, I repacked my luggage on the train on the way to the airport (which is better than on the departure lounge floor. The departure lounge was where the fun started. I had to wait for an hour to check-in because the immigration system in Canberra was down and no Australian passports could be processed. It’s a sad day when you have trouble getting into your own country. Immigration is lucky I didn’t wake someone in the middle of the night to ask why it was so hard for me to come home. Armed with the information that the flight left from gate nine, I headed into the duty free store next door and did some final shopping. I also made sure to retrieve some final Australian dollars just in case my little wallet incident left me with no access to my bank when I returned. I changed into my comfy flying clothes and headed for the gate. Only they had changed the gate. And my plane was boarding. At the other end of the terminal. I made it in plenty of time. [‘Last Goodbye’ – Jeff Buckley – Unlike moist of my friends, I came to Jeff Buckley late but after I saw him live at The Royal Theatre on a cold wintry Canberra evening, I was hooked. It was his last Australian tour and he was mesmerizing as a live performer. I don’t care how good your stereo is, you haven’t fully appreciated Jeff if you didn’t see him live.]

 

I was safely on my way home but started getting savage stomach pains about halfway through the flight. I hadn’t had a reaction to the cabin pressure before and never want to have it again. It was excruciating.  I couldn’t sleep so I just watched movies (and took the occasional peak under the window shutter at the morning sky outside). I took the opportunity to see ‘Burn after reading’, which I had meant to get to the cinema to see and ‘Australia’ which I hadn’t. My instincts were correct on both counts. As we flew into Singapore there was a magnificent scene out the plane window as the sun set over the hundreds of cargo ships sitting in the Malacca Strait. I would have got a photo if I had a film camera but alas, you aren’t allowed to use a digital once the plane is in descent.

 

I spent the whole hour in Singapore just walking around. It helped. And when I got back on the plane, the steward asked the girl who had joined the plane and sat in the aisle seat to move into the empty row in front. This gave me three seats to lie across so I managed to get some sleep.

 

On arrival in Sydney, I was very careful about the Customs and Quarantine questions – there was a sign up that Border Security was filming and that’s not really the kind of holiday memento I was looking for. They asked me some questions and checked the bottom of my shoes. They weren’t concerned about my champagne cork, jelly beans souvenired from the Portobello or my (probably synthetic) fur-lined boots.

 

I had cleared Customs by 8am. Unfortunately my flight to Canberra was for 12.50pm. That’s where the Qantas Club membership started to work its magic. I got onto a flight two hours earlier, with the chance to have a shower in the lounge. God bless the Qantas Club. It’s worth considering Qantas flights next time just so I get this kind of treatment wherever there is a Qantas lounge.

 

And then the strangest thing happened. I met a group of five or six Irish guys from just outside Belfast, a few of them pretty cute, who were on their way to Brisbane. Sure they were at least 10 years younger than me and a short conversation in the transfer lounge is a short conversation in the transfer lounge but how irony? And for the record, I recognized the accent as Northern Irish. Speaking of accents, it was actually quite bizarre hearing Australians around me. I had met very few of them on my travels.

 

I arrived back in Canberra Airport greeted with flowers, chocolates and birthday presents. I had actually forgotten about my birthday in the haze of exhaustion. And when I arrived home I was greeted with cuddles from my puppy. It has taken me a couple of days to readjust to being home. I know it sounds strange after just five weeks away but my house felt weird, a lot bigger than the places I had been staying over the past five weeks. On Saturday night I woke up from a dream and it took a full ten minutes before I realised where I was.

 

And I can’t wait to go again – I am already planning my Eastern European trip for the last half of 2010. And a mini-break to Queensland later in the year. And of course the Madness show in a couple of weeks. But for now it’s back to work. I’ve got to pay the credit card company somehow. [‘Dreamworld’ – Something for Kate – I usually find Something for Kate pretty boring but this is a pretty good cover, staying faithful to the original Oils song that’s loaded with Australian references and I’m misappropriating the lyric ‘Your dream world is just about to end’]

Camden Town on a less busy day
Madame Tussauds
Terraces in Holland Park
Sunrise over Iran
Flying over Malaysia
Sunrise over western New South Wales
The Australian themed bar in Shepherd’s Bush
The home of punk postcards
Shepherd’s Bush Empire
Flying over the Indian Ocean

Living like a rockstar

When I arrived back to the hotel, my bags had already been taken to my room so I climbed the stairs to Room 16 – the infamous round room – at the Portobello Hotel and turned the key. It was plush – opulent to the extreme. I put down my shopping, explored the room and then laid down on the soft doona stretched across the perfectly round bed, popped the champagne cork and ordered some room service (mixed olives and tapenades to accompany my champagne and fish pie with salmon, smoked haddock and prawns for dinner). After weeks of budget hotels and hostels, it felt decadent, just the way I had intended. 

 

The room was beautiful, just the way it was pictured on the website, with a beautiful canopy hanging over the bed, a couch, the antique shower and also a regular shower and a small mini bar and sink hidden away in a cabinet. There were robes and slippers (I have stayed places with robes before but never slippers) and lots of luxurious big towels. [‘Sweet Dreams’ – The Eurythmics – it sounds very 80s now but I remember thinking of this as very different at the time it was released – probably because it wasn’t sung by a boy with a mullet.]

 

I lay on the bed sipping my champagne, utilising the free internet and watching some telly on the Bang and Olufsen screen, waiting for my food to arrive. Sure, the Portobello is a luxe hotel designed to be perfect for a love in with that special someone or in the case of many guests, that group of special someones you brought home from your show – there are mirrors everywhere but not in a tacky on the ceiling way. Subtle smoky mirrors surround the bath while there is a gilt edges oval mirror at each end of the room. However, its decadence is also matched with a sense of homeliness from the private gardens at the back of the hotel and the suburban obscurity of its entrance to the friendly welcoming staff. It’s easy to see why so many rock stars choose the hotel. Tina Turner is rumoured to have loved it so much that she bought the house next door. My reason for choosing it (apart from the opulence) was that The Sex Pistols stayed here (in 1976 and 1996).

 

After dinner (and some champagne and those Harrods chocolates) I tested out the antique shower. First using the spray, then the shower and finally enjoying a bath. After that it was more champagne and chocolates (and wondering whether at 40 I was too old to become a rockstar’s girlfriend. Probably but it was certainly a great way to spend my birthday. [‘Today’ – The Smashing Pumpkins – the perfect pop song, this reminds me of Canberra winters playing stereo round robin with friends]

 

In the morning I awoke late, taking full advantage of the 12pm checkout. I decided on the full English breakfast and had it delivered to my room, enjoying the bird song from the garden as I ate. I then bade farewell to the luxury, leaving my bags at the hotel for collection later in the day.

The private gardens
The entrance (where the topiary trees are)
Bed canopy is round too
Yes I was really there
Harrod’s choccies
The view from the bed
Breakfast is served
The round bed
The antique shower
Mini bar hideaway

Shop ’til you drop

Happy Birthday to me! My first task on my birthday was to pack up my bags and check into the Portobello Hotel. Unlike most of the ritzy hotel’s clients, I arrived with a backpack on, having walked from The Notting Hill Gate tube station. Often, in an establishment such as this, the staff will treat someone who looks like a smelly backpacker, like a smelly backpacker, less important than their wealthy celebrity clients. That didn’t happen to me here.

 

The ladies at the desk were lovely and chatty and asked about my trip – I told them it was my birthday and they said they hoped I had a very special night here and a happy birthday. It was only about 9.30am but they assured me the room would be ready in 20 minutes or so. I was happy just to leave my bags with them and head out for the day. I feared that if I got into the room, I wouldn’t leave and I still had things I wanted to do.

 

I decided my birthday was going to be about pampering and spoiling myself. I decided against spa treatments or things that I could do in Australia (or more cheaply in Asia). Besides I would have the luxury of the Portobello for the night. So shopping was the first order of the day. I caught another red bus which went past Kensington Palace as well as Hyde Park (which is huge).

 

I started with Harvey Nichols. Like any AbFab fan worth their salt, I was keen to find out why this store was made famous in the show as the pinnacle of shopping for fashmag queens like Eddie and Pats. The answer was simple – it is the top end of UK department stores – where clothes are categorized by designer rather than type. I have to admit I did look at and love the Vivienne Westwood collection, despite the fact none of it was ever going to fit me. I toyed with the idea that, for me, owning a pair of Vivienne Westwood shoes would be like Jimmy Choos to others. The only problem was that this season, Vivienne has quite a thing for plastic shoes. They were very cute and well designed but man-made fibres, let alone plastic, don’t really work too well for me. [‘Anarchy in the UK’ – The Sex Pistols – OK yes, now my scrawling is prompting the music choices but this is appropriate as Vivienne Westwood had almost as much of a profile in the UK punk movement as Malcolm McLaren.]

 

From Harvey Nichols, it was time for the other end of the scale with Top Shop. As you would expect, it is filled to the brim with cheap clothing inspired by the catwalk. And if Topshop is anything to go by, there is still some life left in both the balloon skirt’s second coming and the inspiration from vintage dressing, not to mention actual vintage dressing – Topshop has a range of vintage (second-hand) clothes as well but nothing in sizes over 14.

 

Then it was on to Selfridges, yet another huge department store full of designer labels. It was here that for the first time I felt sickened by the excess. There was a guard, guarding the handbags. When society gets to the stage that a device used to carry your stuff around needs someone to guard it in a store, things have gone too far. I am sure those that love their handbags will disagree with me – my faithful tardis handbag, which cost me about $12 and can probably go in the washing machine (or at least be wiped down) has served me well throughout this trip. Yes I have a suede number that cost about $40 from a local designer in Balmain but I’m too afraid to wear it that I might spill stuff on it. The idea of a handbag that costs more than I will probably ever spend on a car seems a bit excessive to me. Don’t buy the handbag, save on the guard’s salary and send the money to vaccinate children dying of AIDS in Africa. Sure I have a sneaker collection but they are well worn (and I have never paid over $100 for a pair – most were sample bargains at about $50). [‘Minister for Planets’ – Augie March and Archie Roach from the album Corroboration which teams indigenous artists with white Australian artists – it’s worth a spin if you haven’t heard it – there is also a great Deborah Cheetham and Wicked Beat Sound System track.]

 

From here I wandered along excess street, better known as Sloane Street which stretches from Hyde Park to the Kings Road (my next iconic destination). You name the label and they have a store here – Prada, Pucci, Armani… and every store has a cute young male attendant at the door – I surmised this was for the following reasons – a) as a guard, like the handbag guard at Liberty), b) to charm middle aged cashed up women and gay men into parting with a fortune and c) to keep undesirables including smelly backpackers, such as myself, out of the store. I will point out that for my shopping trip I had eschewed the army pants and (for me at least) I was quite chic – in boots, black tights, a denim skirt, a funky All Tomorrow’s Parties t-shirt and my black jacket from Germany. I was carrying my fleece jacket for when it was really cold and windy.

 

From here I sauntered along the Kings Road, once the home of punk culture in England – Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood’s infamous shop was located here – but now sadly, just a regular shopping strip with a few boutiques and some chain stores. Down one end was the shop at Bluebird, which features clothes and accessories by up and coming designers. There was some fabulous stuff in here, particularly some of the really original marquisette jewellery, but it all had a price tag to match the opulent décor.

I did buy a pair of shoes in the Kings Road but they were from a chain store I had seen all over London. The sales assistant was really nice and at least I can say I bought them in the Kings Road. I believe Vivienne Westwood still had an outlet in the Kings Road for a long time but alas no longer. [‘Stranded’ – The Saints – Australia’s contribution to the London punk scene – I have seen the saints three times in the past couple of years and can report the shows that included Ed Keupper were awesome and the one without was terrible.]

 

From the Kings Road I headed for London’s shopping institution, Harrods. It is as twee as you expect with 1920s doormen still at each entrance and similar uniforms for staff, particularly in the food halls. Harrods is renowned for carrying quite conservative clothing ranges but they were the first place to offer a plus size range. Unfortunately, despite having some designer stuff in there, the clothes were aimed at your Maggie Tabberer style larger woman. I know as an (eep) 40 year-old fat clothes shopper, I am never going to be able to wear over the knee socks with skirts that barely cover my bum but isn’t there a happy medium? Do I have to look like someone off a soap opera with big hair and big swathes of fabric?

 

After my disappointing foray into Harrods fashion, I headed for the food halls. Harrods food halls may not be regarded as the best in Britain but they far outdo either the Myer or David Jones food halls. You could have a gourmet lunch or dinner here (or pick it up to take it home). Along with all manner of deli items, there were pre-prepared curries, quiches etc and exquisitely decorated cakes. Instead of cake that could get squashed on my travels, I chose a small pack of Harrods chocolate pralines, decorated with the store’s name in gold.

 

From here I headed to my birthday indulgence, a proper afternoon tea in the Laudree tea rooms at Harrods. Laudree is a French patisserie that has a concession in Harrods. It was wonderful – delicious smoked salmon and cucumber sandwiches, mini pastries and an array of tarts, cakes and macaroons, accompanied by yea. My favourite was the rose flavoured macaroon, with fresh raspberries and lychees and rose-flavoured cream. It was scrumptious. It was a lovely indulgence and one I think should be repeated. I have grown quite fond of tea. Now I just need to purchase a teapot so I can do tea the proper way at home. Harrods (and most other stores in London) had plenty of teapots – I just wasn’t sure they would make it home in one piece. [‘This Charming Man’ – The Smiths – Up against some of my music from the 90s, The Smiths don’t seem quite as depressing as I thought they were at the time. The same can’t be said for another early 80s fave of mine – Tears for Fears]

 

After my afternoon tea, I decided it was high time I headed back to Notting Hill to enjoy my other five star indulgence. I hopped on a bus that was supposed to take me there but I got on the wrong bus and ended up in Putney. I realized I was going the wrong way when we passed Earl’s Court. I had purposely avoided going to the home of Australians in London but ended up passing through by accident. It wasn’t hard to tell this was a backpacker haven – the streets were strewn with takeaways and Western Union outlets. Eventually we reached Putney Bridge where I decided to get off the bus (fortuitously as it was very close to the tube station and right on the edge of Zone 2. From here I could get a direct train to Notting Hill on the district line so it worked out well – I got to see another part of London and it didn’t delay me too much.

The Kings Road
Harvey Nichols
The shop at Bluebird
My new car (I wish)
Harrods

West End [girl]

Dominion Theatre where the show has been running since 2002

Dominion Theatre where the show has been running since 2002

It turned out ‘We will Rock You’ was the perfect musical choice for me. I have long been a Ben Elton fan (his writing not his acting) ever since The Young Ones and Blackadder days. I was one of those people that watched Stark more than once as well. This was laced with the same kind of humour and pop culture references that litter Elton’s work and also as many references to Queen as he could jam in.

 

It followed the story of how two misfits – a boy and girl – saved the world from the banality of the Killer Queen and her mass-produced banal Radio Ga-ga (300 years in the future) by playing real music on real instruments (a topic close to my heart). And it was amazing how many songs they managed to shoe-horn in. Highlander got another Guernsey with ‘Who wants to live forever’, the intro to ‘Flash Gordon’ featured in a mind control scene and they even managed to get ‘Fat-bottomed girls’ in there. [‘Another one bites the dust’ – Queen – this was my introduction to Queen and still remains one of my favourite songs. Queen have long been out of favour with those that are cool but there are some great tunes amongst their catalogue. And throughout my lifetime, through many different Queen fans, they have provided a soundtrack to various parts of my life. I have had more than one boyfriend who favoured Queen.]

 

My favourite bit was in the names the rebel Bohemians had given themselves, after rock stars. There was a guy named Madonna, complete with conical bustier, a girl named after Freddy, the female lead, Meat(loaf), Bob the Builder and the leader, which got a lot of laughs for their misinterpretation of history, was called Britney Spears. They also had a bit of a tribute to ‘Only the Good Die Young’ which mentioned Buddy Holly, Kurt Cobain and of course Freddy Mercury, amongst others.

 

The Dominion Theatre, one of the West End’s biggest,  was one of those old style theatres with leather seats that folded up (I was seated in the stalls), a balcony and really ornate boxes in the wings (like the ones on The Muppets). I giggled my way through the three hour show (there was an intermission). It was definitely a good way to spend my birthday eve. I had thought about seeing a band while I was in London but hadn’t seen anything that appealed to me – it was a Monday night after all – and decided a west-end show was a quintessential London experience. Besides I have the V Festival to look forward to. Yay! Madness! I have been looking at flights to go to at least one sideshow (as I have just had five weeks off, I need to schedule around work) but I’m not sure my bank manager would like that very much.

London, city of icons and monuments

The Buckingham Palace pooper scooper
Carnaby Street entrance
Liberty Department store
Trafalgar Square
Th rear of the guard marching up Pall Mall
The gates to Buckingham Palace
Topiary in the Queen’s gardens
Westminster Abbey
Bog Ben and the London Eye
The big ferris wheel
The Thames
The world’s best adhoc skating venue under a building on the South Bank
Flats on the South Bank with the tower of Tate Modern in the background
Globe Theatre
London post box in Sloane Square

 

Day three in London was about getting out and seeing all those iconic places I had heard about throughout my life (and a few monuments as well – you can’t really go to London without seeing Big Ben.). My first stop was Carnaby Street – the once famed corridor of fashion shopping is now filled with international chain stores and has an archway at either end proudly announcing that you have reached the iconic street. Carnaby was Liberty, one of Britain’s many department stores. Liberty is housed in a Tudor building, one of the few I saw in London.

 

From here I walked down Oxford Street towards Leicester Square. I had heard there were ticket boxes in Leicester Square where you could get half-priced tickets to that evening’s shows. I decided that seeing a west-end show would be a fun thing to do in London and a fun way to spend my birthday eve. I could have gone for a really serious play but that, to me, is not what the West end is about. When I think West End, I think musicals. Monty Python’s Spamalot and Tim Firth’s Our House (which features the music of Madness) weren’t showing. There were about 30 musicals based directly on films including Dirty Dancing and Zorro – seeing a film on stage was not really what I had in mind. I chose the Ben Elton penned ‘We will Rock You’, based on the music of Queen.

 

From the box office, I headed to Trafalgar Square. Like the Italians, the British aren’t afraid to erect a monument or two to their heroes, such as the statue of Lord Nelson high atop the thing in Trafalgar Square. I didn’t see too many of the famed pigeons. As a matter of fact I didn’t see many at Il Duomo either. So there you go – winter is a good time to visit if you want to avoid pigeons.

 

This was the point at which I realised two things a) I wasn’t all that far from Buckingham Palace b) the changing of the guard was due to start in about 10 minutes so with these things in mind, I headed towards the Palace. I didn’t really see the changing of the guard. Like lots of other monuments, you have to be there really early and stand around for hours for that. I wasn’t that interested in the pomp and ceremony. However, I did manage to follow the mounted regiment up to the gate. In order to keep things nice and clean for the Queen (and the tourists), there is a special pooper scooper vehicle that follows the horses up the mall in front of Buckingham Palace. [‘The Few’ – Billy Bragg – Billy is one of my favourite singer songwriters and he’s someone who puts his effort where his mouth is, running grassroots campaigns to make a difference. One of the most pertinent things I ever heard him say was about violent protest action. He said if you blow up a McDonalds for exploiting its workers, there’s another McDonalds around the corner. He suggested that organizing a trade union inside McDonalds was a better solution.]

 

From here I headed towards Westminster Abbey. Unfortunately it was closed for a service for Commonwealth Day. I did manage to see the tail end of a parade of Commonwealth flags being taken into the abbey for the event. I was informed by the two London bobbies at the gate that if I cam back in a few hours and braved the crowds, I might get a glimpse of the Queen or PM ahead of the 3.30pm service.

 

I walked on to the houses of parliament (and Big Ben of course). It’s not until you get this close to the big clock that you realize there is a lot of gold gilt edging shining in the sunlight. In fact, I was quite surprised at the amount of gold decoration I saw on the outside of palaces and government buildings like parliament in Britain. I had expected it in Italy but not here. I have no idea whether it is actually real gold. I suspect not anymore but probably originally. I wasn’t as repulsed by the opulence here in the same way as I was by the Vatican. It’s probably because the majority of British people support this system of government with a monarch as head of state, that the Queen actually pays tax to the state and that a large portion of the wealth actually belongs to the people of Britain rather than the royal family personally and that the government actually has some say in determining how much money the royals receive. The Vatican doesn’t have these sorts of controls and church members play no part in determining the political direction of the church or how its money is spent.

 

There was an interesting juxtaposition of images standing on the edge of Parliament Square out the front of Westminster Abbey. In the foreground, in front of Big Ben were the flags of the Commonwealth nations flickering in the breeze. In the background, on the other side of the river, you could see the London Eye, which is essentially a massive ferris wheel. The whole thing looked like a carnival, which is probably quite appropriate for parliament. [‘Sexuality’ – Billy Bragg – one the easiest interviews I have ever done was with Billy. What you see is what you get. I spoke to him just days after 9/11 and it was one of the most interesting interview conversations I’ve ever had.]

 

I decided to see if I could get a glimpse of Gordon Brown collecting the paper at Number 10. The humble nature of the terraced house as the PM’s residence in Britain has always appealed to me against the opulence of the royal palaces. Don’t even bother – there is tighter security there than at the lodge. All those news shots you get of media packs hounding the PM outside his front door must be gathered by people with appropriate security clearances. Not only are there guards and those pylons with the red lights across the top at the entrance to Downing Street, there is also a double gate arrangement and a guard house. Lucky only other politicians live on the street these days.

 

Just around the corner from Number 10 are the Cabinet War Rooms. This was one of the most interesting museums I have ever seen. It is in the bunkers built to house Winston Churchill and his cabinet during WWII. It was recreated in enormous detail with each room laid out as it would have been during the war, right down to the implements in the kitchen, the typewriters and telephones and the war strategy maps on the walls. I stopped in a t the café to have afternoon tea of finger sandwiches and jam sponge. The menu (which they wouldn’t let me souvenir) was written like a ration book. The museum also had the best gift shop I have seen, including recreations of metal advertising signs from the period, ration books, cookbooks featuring wartime recipes using rations and books created by the government with helpful hints about health and making your clothing rations go further. My favourite was the dig for victory campaign which encouraged people to build home gardens to feed themselves during the war. [‘Zoot Suit Riot’ – Cherry Poppin’ Daddies – swing is such great dancing music – if only I was a slightly better dancer. And I love the clothes. For the record, I bought my first piece of vintage clothing, a lace dress from Route 66, back in 1989 so you can see why I was enamored with the London vintage clothing craze.]

 

From here I walked across the Westminster Bridge and along the South Bank of the Thames to Tate Modern. The interior design in the building is amazing, even more impressive than the Powerhouse in Sydney which also utilizes a disused power station. I was a little disappointed with the exhibition though – the minimalist gallery was closed, due to be replaced with another exhibition. Tate Modern works on a timeline of art from the early 20th century and how you can do that without minimalism is beyond me. Like the Spanish gallery, there is an over-fascination with cubism and surrealism here. Sure I am impressed by Picasso, Dali, Magritte and Duchamp but enough already. There was also a temporary gallery of 80s paintings. It reminded me of the kind of art we studied and worked on at school. Like everything about the 80s, paintings were supposed to be big, huge and mostly abstract. The highlight for me though was the pop art gallery, seeing Roy Lichtenstein’s Whaam and Wall Explosion II up close and personal.

 

From the Tate, I wandered to Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre – I decided not to pay for the tour and settled on just seeing the outside. In the end it is a recreation, not the real theatre and the experience would be in seeing a play there, recreated in the way it would have been seen in Shakespeare’s time. I decided that it was probably best left for my next visit to London.

 

I decided to head back to the hostel to get ready for my West End show on a London red bus so a) I could see the territory I had been covering underground on the tube and b) I could actually get to take a ride on a red bus. When there was that huge controversy about the government getting rid of London’s double-decker red buses. It turns out that what they were talking about was the really old buses with the conductor at the back door, as seen in about 100 carry-on movies. There are more modern double-decker red buses everywhere. There are still some of the old ones on a few heritage routes but I didn’t manage to catch one.

Tragedy in Northern Ireland

This post was written on Sunday. Since then there has been another murder, this time a police officer, in a different part of Northern Ireland but the sentiments expressed below still stand.

 

My visit to Belfast has just taken on a whole different perspective. I have just watched my first news in a few days to the news that two British soldiers were killed by the Real IRA in Antrim, just west of Belfast. I had read yesterday in the paper that in the past 12 months, attacks on NI Police had increased and the police chief had just employed a number of intelligence gathering techniques to stop an attack like the one that occurred last night.

 

I still believe that it was perfectly safe for me to visit Northern Ireland – I would be more likely to be a target for the drunken rage of some glass wielding idiot in Canberra or any terrorist indiscriminately targeting Australians or Caucasians than I would for the Real IRA or indeed any other group in Northern Ireland. It does, though, show that my feeling that peace in Belfast was hanging by a thread was correct. It is a sobering thought that makes me glad that I had the luck to be born in Australia.