Open House London

Another adventure soon befell us, though much smaller in scope.

Open House London is a festival of the built environment. It offers Londoners the opportunity to see 'behind-the-scenes' at some of the most significant buildings and places. Unfortunately, this year's festival did not include my favourite feature of the London skyline - but did offer other chances to see cool things.

A lovely, sunny Saturday began with brunch in Spitalfields Market before heading into the uber-cool arty ethos of EC1.

Lots of new media companies have their groovy headquarters and galleries here, and I have visited a few times to discuss work projects with designers etc. Even though it is much quieter at the weekend, I still think it feels about to burst into a new-New York sort of status as an art destination.

Our first stop definitely maintains that vibe. Village Underground is a modest project placing out-of-action Underground carriages on top of old railway viaducts to form new office space for designers.

I say modest because it doesn't look much from the street:


But it is pretty cool once you get up there:


The small space is well-maximised, and the view out of the carriages were quite good. I liked that one could sit in the drivers' cabin in the sunshine - cos buttons and switches are cool:


However, the workplaces themselves were quite dull, and I was actually underwhelmed by it all.

Luckily, the second part of the complex blew me away. The old brick viaduct underneath the offices had been turned into a massive gallery and this weekend was hosting the winning glass works in a competition to design a new martini glass for Bombay Sapphire.

The new media and marketing people were clearly let loose all over this campaign - it was awesome. The atmosphere in the gallery was ethereal - candles, blue hydrangeas and glass everywhere. Quotes about martinis were 'written' on the wall with white lights:


Plus, a bar at one end sold especially designed martinis. (Sadly, we couldn't quite bring ourselves to drink that early in the day!)

The designs that had made the finals were fantastic.

My favourite was a glass with blue cooling liquid in the bottom to ensure the martini remained at the correct temperature without being heated by the hand holding it. I liked it most for its shape:


My second favourite was this one because it is creepy yet elegant:


And the winner was this one, which did not blow me away at all:


Amorn Thongsaard from Thailand designed the glass. He called it 'Ramify', and was influenced by the way bubbles rise when a martini is poured. Strangely the judges gave him the award because they liked the way the bottom of the glass has facets that reflect the shape of the Bombay Sapphire bottle. Can they have it both ways?

Whatever the case, this glass offically 'expresses the elegance of the evening martini cocktail moment'. So there.

Once we emerged from the show it was far too sunny to stay indoors. So that was the end of Open House London for us.

and we can visit the Eden Project too!

Our third day in Cornwall was wet and cold, so instead of our planned surfing lessons, we chose to travel south and see the Eden Project.

My parents had raved about the Project, so it was an easy decision to pass up a cold day in the surf for a drive through gorgeous country lanes to get there. The villages were very sweet, and every cottage had its own name - Haven, Little Overton, Sunny Down etc.

Once we got to St Austell, I was immediately impressed with the scale of the complex and the insane modernity of it all. It's hard to express in a photograph, but trust me that the biomes are enormous:


A lot of effort has gone into making the complex accessible to all. Not only does it have excellent facilities for mobility impaired visitors, but it is one of the first non-publicly funded places I have visited that deploys Easy Read principles on their displays.

The first thing I really liked was the vegetable garden. I spent ages exploring the varieties of food grown outdoors at the Project - and was delighted to learn that ginger, lemongrass and chillies all survive outside in England. I was even more interested to see Amaranth - my favourite breakfast cereal - for the first time. Lucy lost me in the garden for quite some time but I emerged eventually...

Apparently, the Project has the biggest glasshouse in the world. Once inside the rainforest project, I can believe it:


Not many glasshouses have five-story waterfalls inside them:


It got very very warm walking all the way to the top of the forest, and by the time we came down we needed a rest before visiting the next biome. Naturally, the Project gives you every opportunity to spend your money, and the cafe had the added bonus of selling food from within 5 miles of the Project. It made for a good break.

Fortified, we ventured into the second biome - based on mediterranean climates. It was much drier and more pleasant than the first biome, but also less interesting. There were ony two things I really liked. The first was a series of sculptures amongst the grape vines celebrating all things Bacchanalian. They were very cool:


And secondly, I enjoyed the low-key display of commercial flowers that demonstrated the links between changes in fashion and ups and downs in species protection. It was educational AND pretty:


We spent five hours or so at the Project, which was enough to tire us out and ensure an early night after dinner. Unfortunately, the weather had got quite bad by the time we reached our campsite, and I am such an amateur at camping I was convinced our tent would be squashed by the tipping over motorhomes of aforementioned empty nesters. Thus, I spent my night more or less awake in the car.

The eight hour drive home the next day compounded my weariness. But, actually, it was so good to get out of London and do some great things with Lucy that I don't mind at all. Yay for a holiday!

and into Cornwall!

Even a tent is a better place to sleep than our dingy London flat! So, with another decent rest behind us, Lucy and I woke up ready to conquer our surroundings. It helped that the weather was glorious:


Padstow was as picturesque as expected. It is a small tourist town pretending to be a fishing village, so has plenty of quaint shops selling Cornish deicacies and seaside souvenirs. There was many an intriguing lane to wander, and even the pubs were pretty:


As it was getting on to lunch time, we thought we should try another Rick Stein outlet (Lucy is quite the fan). My steak pasty was excellent. Unlike yesterday's fish and chips, it needed not Watties.

Having furnished ourselves with a picnic, Lucy and I strolled up from the town and towards the lookout. Much like Padstow, it was full of affluent empty nesters walking their dogs (two spaniel minimum!).

The view was nice, but Lucy will testify that the water is freezing!:


So, rather than swim, a better way to make the most of the weather was to hire some bikes for the Camel Trail. It's been two years since I did any sort of decent riding, so was great to be back in the saddle:


Lucy and I loved the muddy, filthy trail so much we couldn't help but go quickly. Fortunately, we had most of the fast bits to ourselves:


Having ridden to Wadebridge and back in just over an hour, we'd built up quite an appetite. We were totally out of mood for anything English - and were lucky to find the one Italian place in town. Being a gourmand's holiday destination, it wasn't much of a surprise to find that even the little foodie places in Padstow are fabulous.

It really is quite a delicious place, especially in the cool summer evening when the crowds have mostly gone home:

Get me out of London!

It's a good thing we like a challenge, as Lucy and my holiday in Cornwall coincided with the worst weather in months. We drove out of London through torrential rain that had already flooded villages, caused landslides and flipped caravans in Wales.

But, Lucy is a calm and magnificent driver, so we made it to our overnight stop in Salisbury only an hour later than expected.

The best thing about going on holiday is that the rooms are always nicer than our one at home. And, a really good night's sleep led us to a cool and clear morning just perfect for exploring the small farmer's market in the centre of town. Our nibbles made good company as we strolled along the river Avon towards the cathedral.

Being as it's 750 years old, one can forgive the massive restoration that makes a decent photograph impossible. Luckily, a picture from elsewhere is a pretty good substitution:


Lots of things about the cathedral are the tallest, largest, firstest or bestest. It makes the whole thing enjoyable and impressive.

One of those impressive things is that the cathedral was built very quickly - the nave and transcepts took only 38 years to finish. Being something of a devourer of cathedral-based fiction, I know that a cathedral within one generation is phenomenal. And I love that the cathedral had a really excellent model showing how it was done:


The finished product is phenomenal. The nave is beautiful:


And even the plainer of all the stained glass windows were pretty:


It would take quite an item to trump these highlights, but the cathedral manages it by hosting one of only four surviving copies of the Magna Carta. Wow. Yes, I think I'll write that again. Wow.


Annoyingly, this isn't actually my picture of the MC. A pain-in-the-bottom guide hovered in the way of the majority of the display, keen for every opportunity to launch fact after fact at us.

A few things were cool - such as how much skill it showed to write the document from start to finish with no mistakes, and no extra spaces between clauses where naughty Lords could later amend erroneous details. But, I would have preferred the guide's zealotry be replaced by opportunity for quiet contemplation of the glorious implications the document wrought for law and democracy.

So, instead, I made like a monk and used the cloisters for pondering:


Having 'done' the cathedral as much as we could, it was time to leave Salisbury and get back on the road to Cornwall. It took four hours to get to Padstow and, even though it had started to rain, the trip was far better than the previous day's experience.

Especially since we arrived in time to dine with Rick Stein. Okay, so it was fish and chips, and they were only as good as your average Friday night treat in NZ, but they were the best I've had in England. (This was probably helped by my Aotearoa accompaniment, snuck into the restaurant in Lucy's backpack - thank you Mummy!):


It was a very warm way to end a long day, and a tummy full of food explains why neither of us had any trouble falling asleep in our tent.

Me and my mates at the Mela

On a typically wet August day, the flatties and I headed off to West London and the the Mela festival. The Mela is more or less an Indian Festival, and is on a similar scale as the Rise event I went to last year. London's Mela is not the largest, these are in Birmingham and other northern towns with higher Bangladeshi/Hindi popuations.

However, it was still kinda fun on a small scale. Especially since Lucy and Kelly were game enough to take on this massive ride - and be flung about in the air for five horrid minutes:


They said it stopped long enough at the top for a decent view:


This being a London 'summer', they were only up for a minute or two before the clouds rushed in and a thunder and lightening storm began. It was hard taking their picture whilst heavy rain banged my face - Kelly said they were being thrown into the rain upside down - which meant the drops were pelting them feet first!

Once back on terra firma, Kelly, Monique and I headed off for food whilst Lucy looked for some colleagues who were running a stall. After the latest downpour, they had decided to pack up, so Lucy was released from her duties and able to join me checking out the stages. Nothing much took our fancy, as most of the performers were just wannabe DJs channelling Hollywood gangsta or Essex boy youff culture. It didn't feel very authentic.

However, there is always an exception at these events, and we were delighted to find the heritage tent. Inside, the fifteen-strong South Asian Youth Orchestra was about to begin:


I recognised sitars, but the rest were mostly new. It was interesting to learn that such old instruments, played acoustically, have to be retuned in between songs. This took about ten minutes, and it was inidicative of the audience's pleasure that they did not get restless:


We stayed for almost three songs before deciding to leave the Mela altogether. It was getting late, and the trip back home was going to take two hours. Overall, a low-key outing. But I enjoyed myself.

Southend-on-Sea

Having passed my probation period at work, I am now able to work out of the office ('Smart Working') one day a week. In a fit of perfect timing, my second Wednesday of doing so co-oincided with Lucy having a day's training in Southend-on-Sea, a small town at the very Eastern end of the Thames and only one hour from London by train.

The weather in Southend was absolutely lovely, and it was very hard to drag myself into the first McDonalds I saw so I could take advantage of wireless internet and begin my projects. However, I shouted myself a silly breakfast and actually got lots of work done.

Southend has an unfortunate reputation as being full of unemployed people and pensioners. I think whomever first formed this rumour might have been visiting McDonalds on dole day, just like I was. From lunchtime onwards, the locals cram the town centre, mostly having flaming rows and ignoring their misbehaving children.

It made concentrating difficult, so I thought it a good time to see my first Southend sights. Reputation aside, the beach looks nice enough:


Naturally, there's also a funfair and pier to enjoy:


I thought it best to wait until Lucy's class finished before exploring those, so instead ate a pleasant sandwich in the little park overlooking the beaches. The sun was hot and it was fantastic.

After a nice hour of sunbathing, I got all responsible and decided to find somewhere new to set up shop. I took a gamble that Southend's libraries were probably quietly roomy, and it didn't take long to find one. Fortunately, I had guessed they wouldn't have wireless access, so had put all my work from McDonalds on a disk.

Another couple of very productive hours were spent in a corner with a warm breeze blowing through the open window. One strange lady told me off for asking for her help to watch my stuff whilst I visited the ladies' room, but apart from that, it was excellent.

In no time at all, 5:30 rolled around and I could meet Lucy for a swim. She had found her training interesting, and told me good stories about the locals as we wandered to the beach. Unfortunately, all the water had left!!!!:


Not having known Southend was on a tidal lagoon, we were both very disappointed. It was hot and we would have liked to get wet. Instead, we had to content ourselves with walking the longest pier on the mainland UK. I can't say it was on my 'Must Do' list for England, but was perversely satisfying in it's own way - especially since the 45 minute walk to the end led to a cafe with excellent icecreams.

Too hungry to walk the 2km back to the beach, we took the pier's electric tram (the pier has a tram!) for the ten minute drive. Once back in the town centre, it took a long time walking amongst every kind of takeaway-cum-amuseument arcade, to find somewhere serving non-chips-based meals. But, eventually, we found the Pipe of Port, a basement wine bar serving excellent French food.

The waiter was patient and knowledgeable, the menu was perfect and the food was divine. My dinner date was pretty happy:


Having made the excellent decision to linger over our meal, we didn't actually make it home until 11pm. Smart Working is very tiring!

Going down to Downing Street

Way back in July, we got to do something that not too many people are lucky enough to do. A friend (John) of friends of ours (Laurie and Cam) works at Number 10 Downing Street, and offered Cam and Laurie a tour. They super-kindly thought we like to go as well, and the four of us met up with John on a yummy summer's day.

Before we even entered the house, we spent quite some time posing on the front step. It's an important place to get a photograph!:


Members of the public are not actually allowed to open the doors themselves. So, once the security people let us in, we were given a lecture on the rules for visiting. The main one was no photographs taken from inside looking out. I suppose this is because a photo through a window could show the trajectory for a sniper's bullet?

The first few rooms were rather ordinary, but very tastefully decorated. Blues and beige everywhere. We learnt that Downing Street was actually a backwards house; in that the front door was originally the servants' entrance, and the garden was the front entrance overlooking St James' Park.

The bestest bit of the foyer was a leather seat on which the Prime Minister would sit at cabinet meetings whilst making important decisions. It has a high back curving around to increase the amplitude of the PM's voice, and has a drawer underneath designed to hold warm coals. Yes, it's the original 'Hot Seat'.

From the Hot Seat, one can look down a hallway linking 10, 11 and 12 together - the bottom floors of the houses act as a sort of open plan business suite, with the Chancellor of the Exchequer and Treasury officals able to interact with the Prime Minsiter's staff very easily.

All through the building, we passed quite excellent examples of British Art. More artefact than art, however, was Churchill's favourite armchair. The left hand side is worn from where he would brush against it as he flicked his cigar ash away:


After wending through a few more passageways, we came to the stairs up to the more important rooms. A highlight for me, because I am kinda weird, was the yellow stripey wallpaper. It looked really cool with the black and white pictures/photographs of previous PMs:


And, yes, this is the stairway Hugh Grant dances down in Love Actually. The room he ends up in was part of the tour as well:



Once upstairs, the rooms became very grand. Although quite small, they are filled with exquisite furniture and paintings. We sat on the lounge chairs in which visiting PMs are photographed discussing things with Gordon Brown - each chair is worth £250,000!

Amusingly, because 10 Downing Street is not an office building, there aren't any meeting rooms (besides the Cabinet Room), so staff have all their meetings in these rooms - even just a quick chat about next weeks' quiz night will have to take place in these opulent settings.

Off course, it's not all meetings, so John was able to show us the behind-the-scenes working environment as well. Their press office was tiny, crammed in and decorated with very dark wood panelling - it seemed a depressing place to work, irrespective of whether the media were currently for or against the government.

From there, we were back into the public rooms - sitting rooms, the small dining room, the large dining room, and the PM's office:


We were also shown the Cabinet Room - but this was quite strictly monitored, and we had to stay behind a rope at all times. Some of the gifts from overseas ministers were on display - including an enormous ivory sword from Kuwait.

Our final stop was some time spent in the garden. It was surprisingly tranquill, with bright fowers and an English-y sort of landscaping:


After two hours or so, Lucy and I said our goodbyes to the awesomely lovely John and took Cam and Laurie out for dinner to say thank you for thinking of us. Shortly after our adventure, Cam and Laurie moved back to NZ for good, so we were lucky to spend time with them doing something special and so completely cool.

Go Mysterious Haka!

My workmates are a friendly and social bunch, and although we all work very hard it is often balanced by some playing hard as well.

The impending closure of the Walthamstow Greyhound Stadium gave the East Enders in my team a chance to take us for a night out in the 'hood. Entry, a meal and two tote bets for £10 - yippee!

The Stadium is something of an institution. In it's heyday, over 5,000 people would pass under the awesome neon sign each evening:


However, changes to gambling laws mean on-track attendance is declining, plus nostalgia cannot hide the fact that dog racing is a rather rough sort of entertainment, appealing mainly to chavs and not particularly lucrative. For me, 'chav-ness' implies no disrespect, it just means I got to enjoy something I wouldn't normally do. The rest of team got into the East End spirit as well - as testifed by the empty chicken'n chip boxes, sauce packets, beers and betting slips:


Sadly, the closure of the track means many of the old-skool bookies are out of work. This guy was my favourite of the five or so still working the crowd down by the finish line. I loved watching them all chalk and re-chalk their odds whilst doing the maths superquickly in their heads. But, he does look rather miserable:


The tracksiders only take £5 stakes upwards, and I was keeping it real with 50p bets. So, instead I stayed indoors to place my bet on the first race - #3 Analyse to win. My bookie got a sour look in her eyes when I fessed up to my limp stake. But, no matter, because here's my doggie crossing the finish line in First (hurrah!):


My triumphant 28p win was somewhat overshadowed by my colleague Ivan who made £52 on a £2.50 trifecta.

Determined to be more successful, I followed Ivan's example and paid more attention to the 'form' of each dog in the programme. Of course, when it came down to it, I still pretty much chose my dog based on their name. I mean, who could refuse 'Tommy Bahama'?:


No matter the method, I didn't get the hang of it at all, and was on a four race losing streak (a whole £2) by the time my brother and his friends turned up to have their own East End Experience.

Matt et. al. are far braver than I, and delighted in placing £5 bets with the old guys down front. They bonded well with Ivan over shared abilities to understand form and make confident predictions in an alien language, and all did very well in their races. Bastards!

I was getting a tad somewhat despondent at my paltry efforts, so thought I might give it one last go before having to leave for the last Tube. Luckily, the many Kiwis and all the natural gamblers agreed that 'Mystical Haka' was the dog to beat in the next race.

I put a whole £1 in. And he won! So I made £2.20. I still think that's good, even if another colleague made £150 on a £5 trifecta punt.

All the winners crowded in for a shot that is smiles all round:


Our chav-tastic night ended on a complete high. Go Walthamstow!

Wow at Wimbledon

Sometime late last year I thought I should try my luck with the public ballot for Wimbledon tickets. It was in the back of my mind that I could take one of my parents with me whilst they were here.

It's quite a drawn out process, as one writes away for an application form, receives it in the post, fills out and sends it back, then waits months to hear what tickets have been allocated. Again, once that letter is received, you must tear a portion off and send back with your cheque before waiting more weeks before any tickets arrive.

However, it is certainly worth doing if, on one's first try, one gets tickets to the men's finals!!!! And, my beginner's luck continued as the championship progressed and the final looked set to be Rafael Nadal (my favourite) versus Roger Federer (World Number 1).

There were a strange few days when all of England thought Andy Murray might make it through to the final round - whereby I would happily have scalped my tickets away to a patriotic punter for thousands rather than waste my own time with a match that would be over before you could say 'strawberries'. But anyway...

Mum and Dad had left the country by the 6th of July, so it was my tennis-mad girlfriend and myself who made the pilgrimage. Lucy had been to the All England Law Tennis Club before, so knew what was required to make the day easy. So, on finals day we got up really early and packed a picnic, before take the two and a half hour journey into the grounds.

I thought the atmosphere of the Club was wonderful, and loved the abundant purple and green trim - especially the flower baskets as we wandered around. It was something of an effort to resist the souvenier programme, cushions and umbrellas, but I couldn't resist buying a men's championshp towel and a few postcards to commemorate the main event:

Lucy and I had planned to sit on Henman Hill and drink champagne in the sunshine, but the weather was living up to tradition and the Club was clearly making a packet on sales of umbrellas and ponchos:


(Perhaps they schedule the Championships in springtime especially for the profit margins in plastic?)

So, our posh picnic turned into Cava from plastic cups huddled into the concrete walkway around the food court. But, it was a good chance to people watch before heading Courtside.

I had initially moaned when realising our seat allocation, but it was actually really lucky since the seats were far enough back from the Court that we could sit under the roof and wait for the rain to finish.

This being tennis rather than football, the pre-match entertainment was a royal marching band. It was cool but dull at the same time:


Eventually the rain stopped, and the covers could come off one hour late. It was a very efficient process, and it only took thirty seconds for the big green tent to turn into a rather large piece of laundry. There were 25 men and women ready to spring into action:


Another anxious wait, and the finalists came out - Federer in his trademark K-Swiss classic wear, and Nadal all young-looking:


A gentlemanly coin toss, and they began their warm up. I decided I might use my video camera to prove I was there. Unfortunately, it only recorded ten seconds or so before the batteries ran out... but you get an idea of the good view we actually had from our seats:

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After that it was all on.... except for the half an hour rain break in the middle of the third set. Oh, and the hour long rain break in the middle of a fifth set with each players having won two of the previous sets and the game tied at deuce.

All this just added to the tension of 26 break points, 4 match points, rally after rally of impossible shots being returned at angles that amazed, and the overall battle between precision and passion.

Finally, almost at the 9:30pm limit for matchtime and with darkness definitely making a difference, the game was settled 6-4, 6-4, 6-7, 6-7, 9-7. If you don't know the result already, you can see match point in all its glory on this video:



As for me, I still feel the excitement of when Nadal got that final shot, how relieved I was for him to win and how hard I was screaming and yelling and jumping when he toured the court. I don't need a video to remember any of it. Absolutely wonderful.

My MasterCard advert

Glastonbury ticket: £150

Tent: £60

A weekend of unending organic food, ten amazing artists, quality time with my lovely girlfriend, dancing with new work friends, seeing controversial acts for myself, tasting elderflower lemonade and learning to pee standing up: Priceless.

A new face and old friends - Day Three

I tried to get up early on Sunday - but still didn't get to any stage before 2pm!

Having proven the excellence of our spot yesterday, we made base camp with the others in front of the main stage. However, I left them to John Mayer because I was desperate to see Newton Faulkner.

This proved a great idea, and the highlight of my festival.

I knew very little about him before the Festival, but the crowds of people willing to sit in the dirty margins of the pyramid field to hear him play attested to his briliance. There was quite a lot of competition for space, and I had to breach some fairly standard crowd etiquitte to get a decent view, even if only of the video screen:


As soon as he appeared on stage, I liked him. Newton's first words were of his gratitude for being back to Glasto for just his second time, and how amazing it felt to be on one of the two key stages.

From there, he just got into his zany, folky guitar sounds and it was a pleasure to be there. I was surprised to see that he uses his guitar as a drum as well as the usual way; showing lots of talent. But also, in between songs he told great, humble stories about what has changed since he debuted at Glasto last year. He was very funny. And, in the most humble gesture of all, his finale wasn't one of his songs, but a guitar version of Bohemian Rhapsody. Brilliant!

His performance sent me happily off back to the main stage, where John Mayer was just finishing (man, is he talented but boring!) and there was time for a decent chat and further reading of yesterday's paper before Neil Diamond came out.

Even though he's been around for a long time, I didn't actually know that many of the songs. But, one could see from the screen that the audience knew all the words, and Neil was enjoying himself:


So, for me it was more about sitting in the glorious sun, in a field full of happy people, listening to someone sing pleasant songs really well. It was a moment of true happiness.

After Neil, Goldfrapp gave an entirely weird performance that was forgetable to the point that I don't have anything to write about...

Fortunately, Leonard Cohen turned up just as the sun was setting. Lucy and I charged up as close to see his smooth moves:


We were surrounded by ardent fans, and one guy next to Lucy had tears streaming down his face. The others were a little too stoned for that, but it felt special to be in a thick crowd of people whilst singing Hallelujah with the man all others imitate.

I didn't think it could get any better than that, but our next stop was the Acoustic tent for Joan Baez (even arriving early enough to hear Suzanne Vega finish her set with Tom's Diner and Luca.)

Joan was the perfect ending for my festival, as I think she's glorious and have always admired her poltics. She has outlasted many of her contemporaries and looks and sounds amazing for 67:


She sang a mixture of soul, gospel and folk, and many of her songs began with anecdotes from her time as an activist. She thrilled me with an a capella version of Swing Low Sweet Chariot, especially after she told us it was a song she always remembered singing to Martin Luther King as he napped at a campaign stop one month before his assasination.

Joan also sang many of her own hits, and the crowd loved it. My camera managed to take a great video of the crowd's reaction to a particularly political song:



She was also lighthearted - using Diamonds and Rust to take a swipe at her ex-lover Bob Dylan. I knew the song was about him, and had heard it before, but this time she perfectly parodied his nasal singing voice to tell the story of a woman reminiscing about a lover making false promises. It was simultanously melancholy and hilarious.

After four (FOUR!) encores, Joan left the stage just in time to catch the helicopter performers use to rejoin civilisation elsewhere.

As for us, leaving was somewhat trickier. We'd actually been planning to leave early the next day, but the walk back to our tent gave us enough time to think about how long our options might take - and to decide to pack up straightaway and try to beat the crowds.

Luckily for me, I still had some leftover museli and yoghurt to keep me going in the strange half-light of a festival morning:


Our return journey looked like this:

12am - end of Joan Baez's performance
1am - finish packing tent, walk to queue for shuttles
3am - board shuttle (we were on the third one to leave)
3.30am - arrive Castle Cary station and queue for train
5am - train arrives
7am - arrive Paddington Station
8am - arrive Lewisham Station
9am - have something quick to eat and then head to bed.

It's no wonder it took the rest of the week to recover!

Hanging with 180,000 new friends - Day Two

Saturday was always going to be the big deal - not only because of Jay-Z's controversial headlining, but for the absolutely unrelenting quality of performers leading up to it.

As full as the fields seemed on my first day, it was nothing compared to the sights and clamour of the next morning. Clearly, lots of people had arrived during the night - tents as far as the eye could see:


And, whilst we might be stuck in the middle of nowhere, we were still able to grab a decent coffee and a copy of the Saturday Guardian before finding yet more organic food.

Thus well-supplied for the evening, we got to the main stage just as the sunshine and our camping buddies arrived. What a happy bunch:


First up were Crowded House. Having missed their December concert last year, I was stoked to see them again. And, even though the early afternoon time slot indicated they might not be as popular as the other acts, I thought their years of performing experience showed in a polished set that up-and-coming acts might learn from.

It was a nice piece of home to see Neil Finn on the big screen:


And it was really cool to see tens of Australian and New Zealand flags waving along to the songs. Most of the English people knew a few tunes as well, so it was a vocal and good humoured audience to match the fun being had on stage.

(In fact, a good example of the humour can be found on this video, which I have mainly loaded because you can see Lucy on the right of your screen with her New Zealand flag at about 41 seconds in.)

And all this fun isn't just for left-leaning wannabes and face-painted flower babies. Some old hippies get into it as well:


I passed on the opportunity to see James Blunt in favour of more exploring, and some merchandise buying. However, we made sure to come back in time to see Amy Winehouse.

As with thegossip, I have wanted to see Amy live for ages. Even though it is hardly the ideal venue for her, it was still exciting. So much has been said about her in the past few months it was considered unlikely she'd be well enough to show up. But, she did:


Her first few songs were really well done. However, soon enough whatever she was sipping got the better of her and the changes between songs turned into incoherent ramblings.

For the finale, she decided to do a Beth Ditto, and go into the crowd. Of course, controversy is never far behind, so she ended up allegedly punching someone in the face. Even from just the video screens you could see they probably deserved it, as the crowd was getting very possesive. But of course, it meant her minders were keen to get her off-site as fast as they could once she finished singing.

Which left it all up to Jay-Z to finish the night out with a bang....


His show began with a video taking the mickey out of the controversy. It made me feel foolish for being one of those who had thought he was the wrong choice for headlining, and I have to say that coming out singing the most famous song of his biggest detractor in a near-perfect imitation of his style was absolute genius.

From there, he burst into a light and sound extravaganza that was awesome. It was the closest the farm could come to stadium rocking, and I thrilled at the power of it. I couldn't help thinking this was the only time I'd probably do a hiphop concert, and got quite enthusiastic:


Unfortunately, his next song was 99 problems (but a bitch ain't one), so transition from genius to sexist only took five minutes:



Sigh.

And from there it descended into standard songs (and video images as big as billboards) demeaning women as bitches and hos and skanky ornaments. This was a real shame, as Jay-Z's talent is undeniable; he performed a five minute spoken word piece about Barack Obama that was better than anything I can think of- and led into a great song remixing Bangra beats with New Jersey rhymes. But, I just thought he picked the wrong songs for the friendly, peace and equality-loving environment the festival tries to encourage.

His final song was Lucy's favourite, fittingly called Encore, and we were half hoping Linkin Park might come out to perform with him. Sadly, it was not to be, but it was still a great finale. So, overall, if he had just confined his reportoire to the non-sexist suff I think I would have been a new convert!

It was good to be able to discuss my opinion with others who had been there. I think I was in the minority, but I am pleased to see the Festival organisers say they are stepping back from hiphop for next year. Lots of other hiphop was on show (such a Santagold, Battles and Dizzee Rascal), so if they just mean not giving the main stage to the mainstream stuff full of sexism, then I am all for it!

Glasto a go go - Day One

This year, Lucy and I decided to concentrate on UK-based holidays. Not only so we could get some serious saving done, but also to make sure we capitalise on all the very famous ways one can 'do' England.

Logically enough, doing famous English things meant attending the Glastonbury Festival. Glasto is a politically-aware five day musical extravanganza held in late June in Somerset. The Festival has 12 (12!) main stages, and many other smaller performance sites. It combines rock and indie with folk, jazz and poetry all whilst raising awareness about poverty, pollution and climate change.

Controversially, this year's headliner is Jay-Z, a hiphopper. Traditionalists have said there's no place for hiphop at a rock festival, but others have said it could be the beginning of a new era. It may be the naysayers were right, as ticket sales were well down on previous years and many were yet to be sold even the day before. (Normally, they sell out in five hours upon first release.)

But, for either good or bad, we were on our way - and in a wonderful twist, slow ticket sales meant some of my work colleagues and their friends had a chance to get tickets for the first time too and we all decided to camp together.

Because I was still spending time with my parents in London when the Festival began, Lucy went on two days ahead of me. This meant she arrived well before the big crowds, and was able to not only chill out and explore the plentiful variety of the festival at leisure, but we also got a pretty sweet site for our tent, replete with kiwi flag:


So, by the time my eight hour journey with the crowds from Paddington ended on Friday evening, Lucy had already sussed out the best place to eat, shower, chill and soak up the atmosphere.

The Green Fields most clearly show the purpose of the Festival - stalls and services here are all about reducing our environmental impact.

One of my favourite exhibitions was an Eco Pod - living quarters for up to two people that costs only £18,000 to build and uses renewable materials. It was super-tiny inside, but I think would be quite good for a writer's studio in the corner of a farm or similar:


After taking in all the green and hippy type stuff, and full of organic curry, I wandered towards the main stage, where we were to meet up with everyone else. Naturally, the crowd was building, and Lucy couldn't quite believe the change from an empty field to concert venue for 180,000. The farm was filling up:


We arrived at the stage just before thegossip began, and in time to meet up with everyone else for a head-banging, punk-filled boogie.

I have been wanting to see this 3-piece live for about 8 months, so it was an excellent way to start my first Festival. I don't think there is anyone quite as exhillirating to watch as Beth Ditto. Even though we were rather far away, her energy washed over the whole place. She made a massive stage feel like a tiny club in New York. Luckily for me, the BBC has better pictures than I might offer:


Beth really took to the Fesitval vibe, and jumped off the stage to get closer to the buzzing crowd. She marched up in down in front, stealing hats and sunglasses, swilling their beers and giving lots of sloppy kisses. I think she was as sad as we were when time was up...

The next few bands didn't interest me too much, so Lucy and I took the chance to buy beer (£4 a pint!) and get some yummy food back in the organic area. There were sooo many people around, it was phenomenal. And not one of them pushed or yelled or got into fights.

Soon time came for the next treat - Sinead O'Conner in the hot and heavy (and standing room only) Jazz Tent:


One of my great joys about Glasto was the pull of slightly retro or nostalgic acts alongside new grooves. I think other people feel the same way, and I wonder if they were as disappointed as I was by Sinead's dismal set.

We spent the first half listening to a track-by-track recreation of her new album - full of theological poems riffing on dull Catholic themes of guilt and quasi-redemption. The second half got better as she played her older stuff well and the crowd sang along.

But, her finale was always going to be 'Nothing compares to you' - and it needed to be good to make up for the rest of it. Sadly, she played it with shoulders slumped as if to say 'I-am-so-over-this-song-I-don't-care-how-much-you-appalud'. Worst of all, she ended the climax prematurely in the middle of the final bar, took her guitar off immediately and walked off stage. Not cool.

After that disappointment, I wandered back into the festival air ready for some sleep. It being just about midnight, the bands on the main and pyramid stages were rocking the farm, and it was fun to have them as soundtrack as Lucy and I walked the forty minutes to the other side of the fields to our tent. By the time we reached the 'suburbs', the main acts had all finished, and we had the soothing thumping of the drum and bass fields to serenade us to sleep.

A little bit of blogging angst

Hi all,

Thanks for your emails about this page. I thought I might best explain my absence in a post, so please pardon my self-indulgence...

I have found keeping this blog going a real struggle. Not because I don't have subject matter - but because it takes quite a bit of time to pick pictures and find the right words to describe how much fun I am having. Are you surprised to learn that each post takes me about five hours from photo downloading to final polish?

That's quite a lot of effort and, unfortunately, my job has been leaving me with little energy in the evenings. It is hard to be creative all day and then come home to do it for 'fun'. (Blogging was much easier when I had a boring/depressing job!) But, I am proud of the record this blog has become for the many blessings and adventures I am encircled by, and I have many stories I would like keep sharing.

When I read yesterday that most blogs only last three years at most, it motivated me to update the blog and give it another go. I've been travelling and blogging for just over two years, and I would like to keep it up until I leave for Aotearoa again. And, since the adventures keep coming, that may be some time yet.

So, with your ongoing (and very gratefully acknowledged) interest in all that I am eating, drinking, seeing and doing, let's aim for a third blogging birthday in August 2009!

It means the next few posts will be very much retrospectives, but hopefully I'll be back to blogging-as-it-happens by September.

I love my life, and sharing it doubles the pleasure.

Your friend,
Amy.