Happy new year!

It's been a couple of weeks since I last posted, and I'm pleased to report that knees are much improved and apart from a little numbness seem to have suffered no lasting damage.

Christmas was a civilised affair with plenty of food, drink, pressies and excellent company, and we managed to keep going until nearly 2am. The most important point I should mention here is that mother does the best brandy butter on the planet. Seriously.

I caught up on some films I've failed to watch previously, over the holiday period. Most notably St Trinians with the wonderful Rupert Everett - Camilla looks like a lady of my acquaintance, but I daren't tell her! - who gets to camp it up. Even the kids are mostly not annoying and even pretty good - I thought it a good little film.

Captain America is good with clever CGI, and Chris Evans is extremely nice to look at - it falls short of brilliant only because the action in the second half takes up too much time - good for a potty break and making a cup of tea without having to hit pause.

Profiteroles can be gooey as well as scrummy.

Thor has the most amazing CGI for Asgard, and is worth watching in HD for that alone. The rest of it somehow doesn't quite work, as the characters don't really engage with the viewer, which given the very talented credits both behind, as well as in front of the screen, is surprising.

New year's was also a civilised affair with each person contributing a course for dinner (and washing up after that course!), lots of wine and glammimg up in posh frocks and heels.

Scarily, the 2012 diary seems to be already heavily booked, with work events, racing fixtures, girlie weekends, visits to the Harry Potter attraction and canal holidays scheduled.

The trains on the first working day of the year were bad both ways, but can't hold it against southeastern as it was all due to trees and recycling boxes being blown over the lines by that howling gale. Let's hope it's not a sign of things to come.

The first big event of the year is the anticipated arrival of number one nephew later this month and excitement abounds. Watch this space.

Trees and knees

My Christmas Tree arrive ten days ago, and it's very pretty, if I say so myself, hee!

I've been to lots of Christmas events over the last couple of weeks, with much alcohol and high-heeled shoes involved. The irony is, I had an accident that did not involve either, which irks me greatly.

I was doing well, had spent the Wednesday (7 Dec) at an industrial estate in Basildon, and managed to have swift Christmas lunch with a friend in Chelmsford along the way.

On Thursday I had lunch at Aldwych One, a place I'd been to before, that has a little theatre with popcorn where one watches the presentations one was there to see.

One glass of wine for lunch, and some time to kill before the next event, a couple of us went to TGI Piccadilly Circus - halfway between the two events - to indulge in some work type activities over a couple of diet cokes. Honest.

We then walked to Portman Square, where we were due to meet people at Home House. Unfortunately about 200yards away, I managed to trip over my own feet in the middle of the road and face-planted in the most inelegant way possible.

Because I couldn't feel my legs, an ambulance was called and failed to arrive. After five mins or so, I had enough feeling to crawl out of the road, after about twenty minutes my knees de-numbed enough that I could feel my legs, and as it was also raining and ice cold, we managed to hobble to the Starbucks about ten yards away. There were several passersby who were wonderfully helpful, and my colleague was a complete star.

We called the ambulance to see where it was, over half an hour after it was called, and it hadn't been dispatched. With our destination so close, we decided to cancel it and hobble to Home House. The staff there were gorgeous and helpful with the first aid kit, and after finding the people we were there to meet with, I spent a couple of hours with my feet up gossiping, eating chip butties and working my way through a couple of large glasses, before heading home.

This is the spectacular knee...

...and this is the knee I actually did damage to.

This was a task that was made surprisingly easy with colleague and I taking taxi to Charing Cross and station and Southeastern staff looking after me, and finding me a taxi home from the station. With Friday and Monday off, I spent all weekend with my feet up.

I now have one spectacularly bruised knee that I show everyone, because the knee that I've actually pulled ligaments in, doesn't look like I've done anything to it, hardly.

With wraps on my knees, this week has been very civilised, with lunch at Mosimann's on Wednesday, which was just divine.

Thursday I went clay pigeon shooting near Oxford, and I killed 28 out of 48 clays, which I hought was quite good for a first time. Although I will totally admit to loads of help from the instructor which basically involved me just pulling the trigger when he whispered 'bang!'. And we won't mention the M25.

However, we will mention the enormous gigantuan fork-lift farm vehicle carrying three hay bales that didn't see us - me, my boss and two colleagues in my little car - pootling up the farm track to the shooting. It was stopped in a yard when we went down the track that ran past the yard. He came barrelling out the gate and on to the single lane track straight towards us. We tooted, and I thought he'd seen us and was moving over at one point, but no, he was clearly negotiating a pot hole.

His forks were quite literally about go straight into my baby's engine, so with all four of us screaming, I hit reverse and shot backwards faster than Michael Schumacher could have managed. The driver heard that, and braked so sharply his hay bales all fell off.

We were all okay though, and we all waved and laughed, and I now have super-lightning-fast-reflex-hero status. *beam*

Friday was the office party, on a quirky boat on the Thames which was very cute, and I lay in this morning til 10am, so it must have been a good party.

The way home last night was a bit of an adventure, as I got to Waterloo East to find trains cancelled left right and center. My train came in ten minutes late, hobbled along minus three motors for a while and then dumped us off at Hither Green. To give them their due, Southeastern made the next Ramsgate (via Ashford) train stop to pick us up, which was excellent and reasonably prompt decision-making on their part.

Unfortunately, Hither Green couldn't make up it's mind which platform the train was coming in, so four platform changes for two hundred people via a little footbridge was not fun. My knees weren't impressed either. Bizarrely, I bumped into an associate from one of the organisations I deal with, so we chatted for a while, and then I sat next to lovely gentleman on the train and we gossiped about planning applications, which made the journey pass very quickly.

People and places visited and worshipped

Such a lot has happened since last post. Most importantly was viewing the very last Harry Potter film, which was as fab as the others. I think that the films were very well done, keeping in the spirit and bringing some of the magic alive. But no one who has seen them without reading  the books, should for a moment think they know what's in the books, because the films only really concentrate on the main story arc - Harry himself, and his war with Voldemort. Even Ron and Hermione have much more to say than they did in the films, and there are many more characters that were lucky if they were hinted at in the films, each with their own story. So if you haven't read, but enjoyed the films, go read. Now.

At work I've been out and about almost more than in the office.

One day was spent at Stamford Bridge, the Chelsea FC stadium. I've been there a couple of times before and I can report that it's still standing.

Me and a photo op with Mr D.

The last Friday in November was our industry awards, which are ours soI have to work through it. Well, sometimes do bits of work. When not eating. Or drinking. Or admiring the MC, which this year was Lawrence Dallaglio.

The next day, I went to see a very special car - a 15 year-old replica Nomad, which is still being raced in the UK and South Africa and winning races - and looks and sounds gorgeous. And I can even fit in it, with my too long legs!

Last week I went to the National Motorbike Museum next to the NEC. With around a thousand bikes, all (but one) British, it's awsome if you like two-wheeled vehicles.

And then on Thursday, I was had lunch at Sketch (Oxford Circus) which is full of art, from the egg-shaped loo pods to the squillion-pound sculpture of a diamante girl with syringe Afro hair that I should probably know the name of, but don't. It was seriously an experience - an excellent one if you're into art.

I have another couple of full weeks of being out of the office to look forward to, so onwards, upwards, and hoping I don't get lost. Or eat too much.

I got wiiiiings!

So, last week was an absolutely epic week for me. Professionally it was crazy but good with press week and meetings and visiting suppliers.

On Monday, for the first time ever, the explanation for the slow, delayed and lumpy ride on thetrain really was the 'wrong kind of leaves'. How we laughed.

Note that this week, train grumpiness is on track to be re-established. So far my train to work has been cancelled for two days in a row. This is bad for three reasons:

1. Being late for work. Only by a few moments as next train has been fine, so not a problem for me, but it's the principle, and it's a problem for other people.
2. Having to sit on a platform for an extra 20 minutes freezing my a$$ off. Not fun!
3. (and most important) That's 20 minutes extra in bed I could have had!

Me with one of David Coulthard's cars. It still has a map of the last circuit driven on the steering wheel.

Spent the weekend with the girls in Purley watching movies, drinking wine, eating good homemade food and bitching about the universe in general, which was marvellous.

The drive home was interesting, with complete lunatics who should not be allowed to be in charge of 1.5tonnes of metal that hurtles along at any speed whatsoever. On the other hand, a Range Rover Evoque, a black batmobile-like BMW sporty thing and a Landrover with a camera in the back, all faffing about in a layby seemed to point to the Top Gear team being in town, which made me very happy. You never know, but Ghostie's bum might be on BBC2 one day.

And last, but by no means least, in fact far from it, I got to go to the Red Bull Racing factory. That's not the one where they make fizzy, highly caffeinated drinks, but the one where they make really, really fast cars that win world championships.

It was very large, with the enormous buildings, all of which were white and pristine. No dust in hard to reach places to be seen anywhere. And F1 cars are all that's designed and built there.

The people there were still on a high from their boy Sebastian Vettel winning the World Championship for the second time a couple of weeks ago. We got to see some of the hi-tech engineering machines, and the scale model that goes into the wind-tunnel for testing, and some of the cars that weren't being used - and they had the niftiest 'petrol pump' fridges full of Red Bull drinks around.

Slightly terrifying were the F1 cars hanging around on walls or on the ceiling above ones head. I'm sure they'd never fall down, but if one did, it would hurt. And very magnificent were all the trophies in reception - you don't realise how beautiful and uniquely designed that most of them are (apart from the ones that are sponsors logos) on the telly.

There's not a lot more I can say without getting really geeky, but it was a totally fab experience.

Snxzzzzzzzzzz...

Today I am doing nothing. Lots and lots of nothing. Because I deserve it. So there.

I was in the office for three days this week, so my usual 13+ hour days there (yes, I do count the travelling!) On Wednesday I was in Woking for a top secret meeting that involved sets for studios, including Pinewood.

The plus side was finding out *literally* behind the scenes stuff on Harry Potter, Brad Pitt's new movie, the new Snow White, Jack the Giant Killer and something with a certain Mr Craig starring.

The down side was being on the M20 by 5.20am and getting home at 8pm.

I was a bit early getting to Woking, and was pootling across the roundabouts that someone left lying around, when this enormous great sign popped up, which said 'McLaren'. With absolutely no direction from me, my little car decided that she wanted to go and see what that was all about, and who am I to argue with Ghostie? So we took a wrong turn and got completely lost around an outer car park.

I spotted a couple of McLaren road cars lurking about on roads nearby.

On Thursday I went to an Awards do - something to do with knobs and knockers, and it was excellent and topical for work. But on a personal level, the best part was sports presenter Steve Rider was guest speaker and we got to chatting a teeny bit. He co-presented Formula 1 for ITV in 2006 to 2008 and just got back from the Rugby in New Zealand. Hee!

Yesterday was the Lotus 1000km race at Brands Hatch. It was kind of damp all day, but the Lotus club is really appreciative of marshals and we got fed three meals, although the curry last night, while great tasting, was strong enough to strip paint.

So anyway, today the hoovering and washing can wait.

Where's Hitchcock?

Some birdies have appeared on my hall wall. Some of the pics are taken at weird angles to get them in, some of them aren't dry at time of taking pics, so pencil marks and smudges remain. And there are more to come - when they're done.

Bimbling around the country

Whew! It's been a busy couple of weeks, although not really hugely interesting, but here goes anyway! October press week was a bit weird with things coming in late, but managed to get issue out on time anyway.

I spent a few days in the Lake District going to see a solar installation, which was fascinating. We stayed in the Prince of Wales at Foxfield, and ate at the High Cross, Broughton-in-Furness.

The Prince of Wales was a little gem with comfy room and a landlord who makes sure his guests are well looked after. The whiskey list was intimidating in its length, and the landlord also owns the Tigertops micro-brewery in Wakefield, so good beers were on tap.

Kendal.

The High Cross dished up the biggest meals ever. The hors d'oeuvres were the size of a normal person's main meal, and the pudding defeated me. Sugar never defeats me, but this one managed it.

We visited the Hawkshead Brewery which was very interesting and I liked their lager. Unfortunately I don't much like ale, so couldn't appreciate those.

Overcast in Cumbria.

We made a whistle stop visit to Kendal, which was quaint. And the scenery of the surrounding areas was stunning even under overcast skies.

The only downside was the sneezing woman I was next to on the train up there. Three days later and I was full of cold.

We had the Awards judging on Tuesday which was conducted by a really good crowd so it was easy in terms of personalities, and kind of fun.

On Wednesday I was in Cambridge again, at the Regional College. The city is still there, and it's growing. New developments abound.

Saturday was the Vee festival at Brands Hatch which was very civilised. Only one visitor at my post. There were a few slides in the gravel around and about, but only one spectacular incident where the car delivered himself directly to a marshal post while on fire. It was quickly dealt with and the driver's fine.

Oh! And on one of the races, the first and second place, who were fighting for first, managed to take both of themselves out of the race on one of the last laps which was amusing.

And then there was sis and dad's birthdays on Sunday with yummy food and great company as always. Had first thump from nephew-to-be. Hee!

Also, following on from bathroom effort last year, have made staircase bannister pattern. Not yet sure about it, but think it might be alright. Especially after I finish doing things with big blank wall opposite.

Strange man on a train

A little story about a man on a train last Wednesday evening.

There I was sitting in my usual spot in the over-crowded first carriage Ashford-bound from Victoria, reading Bill Bryson's 'A Short History...' and ignoring my neighbour and two other people standing in the aisle who were also reading it.

Somewhere around Bromley, the train emptied a little bit to just about full up, with a handful of new people joining us. One of the new people was a rather aesthetically pleasing young man carrying an open tin of lager and the remainder of a four-pack.

Many ladies on board appreciated the scenery with sly looks - he was, after all, in his mid-twenties, blond-haired and blue-eyed with a pleasing face, and rather nicely tanned muscles - the type acquired on a work site, not a gym - shown off with a sleeveless t-shirt and snug jeans.

Many people also raised an eyebrow at the lager. But he wasn't behaving drunk, and many of those same people liked to have a mini wine now and again on the train - especially on a Friday.

The man sat across from me in the only space left and proceeded to finish his can off while frowning at his mobile phone. The immediate opening of the second can caused raised eyebrows to be accompanied by disapproving frowns. And then his phone rang. Clearly it was a friend. The only side of the conversation that was audible went something like this:

"No, I can't make it, I'm going back to mum's."
"Yeah, I know, but I lost my job, so I can't come out, I've got to sort something else out."

Raised eyebrows and frowns melted instantly away to sympathetic nods and the odd maternal 'poor lamb'.

Apparently his social network contained many tom-toms, for as son as he'd finished that call, another came in.

"Yes, that's right, I lost my job. I got sacked."

Suspicious looks abounded.

"I had an argument with the foreman. It's been coming a long time, I don't like him, and he doesn't like the way I work, and it came to a head."

Suspicious looks replaced by lots of sympathetic nodding and the odd paternal 'brave man, arguing with the boss, takes a lot of guts to do that these days.'

A few other phone calls of almost exactly the same nature occurred, followed by peace and people getting off at various stations. And then, as we were headed into the Maidstone area, he received a string of text messages.

He started swearing as he read them. Under his breath, and followed by a general apology to the carriage, but that was okay - he was clearly having a really bad day.

At Maidstone, the carriage emptied and it was just him and me. He spent a while trying to get a signal as we passed through tunnels and a narrow cutting, and finally made a connection.

"Hi mum, I'm on my way home, I lost my job."
"Yeah, well, I had an argument with the foreman and got the sack."
"Well, I didn't go back after I walked away, but I'm assuming I've got the sack."
"Well, I might have lost it a little bit with him."
"No mum, I might've hit him."
"Yes, mum, but your idea of losing it a little bit and my idea of losing it a little bit are vastly different things."
"By the way, the old bill will probably turn up."
"Because I just got a text to say the old bill had turned up to work."
"Well, I did hit him. And it might have been more than once. Or twice."
"Oh, I'm not worried about that, I'll only get six months custodial at most."
"Mum, it'll only be six months, not like last time!"

And at that point we came into Ashford and I was off that train and out the door faster than you could sneeze.

Travelling around the country

I'm well into silly season now, and have been wandering around the country. Last Thursday week was a flying visit to Saffron Walden, to which my Australian friend responded with 'what's a Saffron Walden?"

Scariness on the way up with a truck driver in front who had clearly fallen asleep. I say this because the dual carriageway veered gently round to the right, while he continued straight ahead. One wheel dangled over the edge of the parallel dyke before he woke up, and with spectacular pirouette across both lanes, brought his vehicle back under control.

I was  to spend the dayat The Nucleus, and upon arrival at the Chesterford Research Park, a very nice man at the gate asked me my surname. I gave it, and he looked intently at a clipboard before tentatively enquiring as to whether I might have a first name. I replied that no, I was born in the same factory as Sting, Madonna, Voltaire and Jordan and they only give us one name there. 

Last Monday and Tuesday I was over in Worcester, in the very lovely old Elms spa hotel in Abberley. It was a nice spa, but the most awesome thing was an experience shower. It had a few settings, but the best was the combined, which started with a torso shower, warm, accompanied by sage scent and birdsong. This lovely moment of tranquility was broken by a clap of thunder, a deluge of warm rain and lightning. A waft of menthol accompanied the storm fading into a light cold mist, then the reintroduction of the  torso shower and birdsong.

Butley Priory and me.

On Friday and Saturday I was in Woodbridge, Suffolk for a friend's wedding. She is very demanding and meticulous in her organisation, so much so, that the weather gnomes were too scared to give her anything other than the most glorious weather possible, even though it was the last day of September.

River Deben.

We stayed in a marvellous little B&B just outside Woodbridge with a good sized garden which we had lunch in. It's only fault was the exit straight on to a dual cariageway which pretty much meant selecting a gap, closing ones eyes, stomping on the gas and hoping for the best.

The wedding was in Butley Church, with a wonderful priest who sounded a lot like Peter Cook in the Princess Bride. The reception was in Butley Priory, which is in fact the the Gatehouse to the old Priory that Henry VIII had obliterated.

Woodbridge.

The wedding went splendidly and the expected hangover did not materialise - it might have thought about it, but a full English breakfast quickly made it think twice.

Saturday morning was spent mooching around Woodbridge and admiring the River Deben - despite the fact that it was mostly mud as the tide was out. The tide started rolling in over lunch, and then it was time to head home.

This week I'm in the office all week which will be a nice break.

Wembley, Canterbury and Autumnal silly season

Two weeks ago marked the start of the usual Autumn busy-manic-craziness. And it certainly has been so far. We have the most enormous September issue since before the credit cruch, which is fantastic, but we didn't have a lot of time to lay it all out - fingers crossed that it looks as good as it deserves to be when it comes out.

Once that was done, we had to short-list the Award nominations, which took place over three days - because while the quantity was good, the quality was absolutely phenomenal, which made it very difficult and necessarily time consuming.

But the week was broken up with a visit to Wembley Stadium for a renewables trade show. It was very small, but very good, with an informative cross-section of suppliers, demonstration area and seminars.

The train getting there... was another story, and at one point I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Going to Charing Cross, we stopped at Tonbridge and didn't start again for half an hour. In that time, the train was cancelled and reinstated, and there reason? There was a driver change and they'd sent the new driver to Tunbridge Wells by mistake - long gone are the days of 'floating' crew to step into the breach when necessary!

There was a trolley on this train though, and some thoughtful person with excellent customer service training had the trolley man offer everyone tea/coffee/redbull etc for the inconvenience. Caffeine buys an awful lot of goodwill and they should have the Victoria line trains carry trollies in the rush hour.

I got my coffee just before getting off at Waterloo East (London Bridge was the first plan, but rescheduled train went fast to Waterloo East) and was happily slurping it as I walked up the ramp to Waterloo for the tube. Until an ignoramus in a pin-striped suit ran past, knocking my shoulder and spilling my coffee down me. My (fortunately old) black and white top instantly became black, white and tan, and more importantly it was a complete waste of half a cup of free caffeine.

Unhappy bunny located tube entrance to Jubilee Line, and was instantly horrified to find Jubilee suspended due to power failure. Rapid alternate route calculated on Bakerloo and Metropolitan. Bakerloo was probably okay, but I was busy having a strop and trying to work out how I was going to talk to important people without coffee stains distracting. The Metropolitan line was just wonderful with a brand new Olympic train with open carriages, air conditioning, comfy seats and possible hygiene.

Trip home was uneventful.

Went to Canterbury on Saturday for lunch with Mel who's getting married next week.

It was a lovely way to spend the day - the city was busy, but not too much so, and while it had been raining before I arrived, it managed to hold off while I was there.

Oliver Cromwell at Victoria

Last week, the Orient Express gave me a lovely surprise - the Oliver Cromwell was in Victoria, and a stunning engine it is too. To my untrained eye, it has what I think is classic styling, inasmuchas, the wheels and funnel are not hidden by body shell.

Wiki says it is a Britannia class, and it was on a private charter to Weymouth. In fact I do believe that it was the 5305 Locomotive Association, who have a write up on Cromwell's renovation and lots of other info on their website.

Trains and Tower Bridge

Look what I did! I was at a Sika press launch last week and was 'forced' to build Tower Bridge out of lollipop sticks and pipe cleaners in 15 mins. The most recognisable won.

That would be me. Was much fun and felt as if I was seven years old again!

A while ago I said that I would attempt to refrain from ranting about trains, and happily Souteastern have reciprocated by providing, for me at least, a reasonably good service – this probably has more to do with most of their customers failing to believe their announcement that they had made their service target by a squillionth of a percent. And when I say good service, I mean mostly on time trains which only break down now and then, and sensible decisions being made quickly when things do go wrong.


It is with great sadness and a total lack of surprise that this halcyon period appears to over. Someone must have told the trains that winter is on its way and now they're scared.

But I am not going to rant about the twice being late for work and three times late home in the last week or so. Instead, I have an illustration of how even with the best of intentions all around, Southeastern somehow still manage to project a sense of dis-organised mis-communication. It goes something like this:

I will start by explaining that I sleep for the one hour and forty something minutes on the way into work in the morning. This begins immediately after I have worked through the Metro as far as the Nemi cartoon, which usually coincides with my train gently pulling away from platform 6.

Train leaves platform 6 on on time at 6.58.

I snuggle down into my jacket and close my eyes.

Snoring may possibly occur.

Vaguely wake up at random stop and crack open eye.

Harrietsham, says the sign. Marvellous thinks I, and closes eye.

Snoring may occur, dribbling definitely does.

Vaguely wake up at random stop and crack open eye.

Barming, says the sign. Marvellous thinks I, and closes eye.

Happy dreams of beating Sebastian Vettel and Lewis Hamilton on the Scalextric occur.

Vaguely wake up at random stop and crack open eye.

Barming, says the sign. Marvellous thinks I, and closes eye.

Somewhere in my brain, the  two Barmings eventually collide.

Go from zero to sixty in seven nanoseconds.

Haven't we already stopped here? I ask my neighbour.

Neighbour scowls, doors stuck.

The guard chooses to spend his time apologising for the delay, and explaining that the doors are stuck.

Many times to an audience who have heard it all before.

And those who hadn't, had by the fifteenth run through.

The driver spent his time doing stuff.

He opened and closed the doors.

He opened the door panels and fiddled inside.

He rebooted the train.

He fiddled with knobs and buttons.

He called control for some advice.

Control told him to do everything he'd already done.

He did.

He concluded that he could close and lock all doors but one set.

Guard explained that passengers weren't allowed to travel on a train with an unlocked door.

After half an hour of this, they decided the train was cancelled.

Guard told passengers to get off the train.

Driver called control and advised that he'd got all the passengers off the train.

Driver asked for permission to go backwards to get the train into a siding.

Guard sauntered up the platform.

Guard informed driver that the passengers would like him to unlock doors so they could get off.

Doors unlocked and passengers alighted.

I've never been to Barming before. I have now.

Train failed to move.

It started raining.

Train still failed to move.

It rained quite a lot more.

Train eventually moved.

Station master advised that London bound trains were now chockablock full and might not even stop.

Station master advised very crowded platform of people to take train going back to Maidstone as all trains stop there.

Platform emptied as many hundreds of people streamed across tiny footbridge to opposite platform.

Tiny footbridge groaned alarmingly.

Maidstone train arrived.

Many hundreds of people squeezed on.

As one of last people, I had one foot in the door.

Another person with one for in the door  noticed London bound train arriving.

All persons with one foot in the door observed London bound train slowing.

Station master yelled that there was no room on London bound train.

All persons with one foot in the door, removed foot and sprinted for tiny footbridge.

London bound train turned out not to be chockalock full.

London bound train had seats.

Many seats.

I sat on one and dripped all over my neighbour. 

I watched the mass of people crossing the groaning tiny footbridge and squeeze on to the train.

I also noted that train accommodated passengers quite nicely.

I was also sadly amused at the faces of the people who had chosen to stay on the Maidstone train.

And definitely laughed at the indecisive passengers who left the Maidstone train at the very last minute and sprinted across the tiny footbridge in time to miss the London bound train.

Total result: arrived very soggy into work nearly two hours late.

DTM weekend

The DTM weekend at Brands is my second favourite race weekend of the year. The favourite being the Lotus 100km race in November. This year was no exception and the changeable weather made teh racing, which for the big DTM cars can be a bit of parade around around teh small Indy circuit at Brands, very exciting. 

I spent Friday on the pit lane entry - which on a big weekend with TV cameras and a premier race is hectic. The pit lane gets busy with not only people, but complex portable technological huts that sit on the pit wall, and the DTM cars being pushed around from garage to scrutineering and back even when other racing is going on.

Some big names were around, and chances are high of bumping into one or two of them rushing from one thing to another. Some of the names that you may have heard of outside of the DTMs (which in themselves include David Coulthard, Ralph Schumacher and Gary Paffet), were Johnny Herbert, Mark Blundell, Tiff Needell and Jody Scheckter.



Supporting races included the Siroccos with the legends class included, the lotuses which as always, I adore, and the Eurocar racers. One orange Eurocar reminded me a lot of an 80s TV show for some reason... 

Oh yeah, and on Sunday they made a couple of us dress up in bright yellow - *so* not my colour!

GTs and Aston Martins

On Saturday, Brands Hatch was full of Aston Martins, the oldest I think was from 1925, through to one just a few weeks old. reliability throughout was awsome, and there were some really cool stories of old cars rescued and restored.

Created with flickr slideshow.

Last week we had the GT Trophy, which also had some very pretty cars.

This one won, but had to fight for it.

This one is a Lamborghini -
what else needs to be said? 

But this one was most fun. 

Clown loaches waiting for dinner

These guys have a habit of throwing stones at the glass if they think I've forgotten to feed them and I was trying to get that on video, but they wouldn't do it today. Still, they are indulging in a little synchronised staring between the tussling and playing.

Orient Express spam can

After bitching about the diesel engines pulling the Orient Express Trains yesterday, guess what was waiting for me at Victoria this morning? An enormous great steam engine, complete with puffing smoke and everything!

The driver of my ordinary mainline train got all over-excited about it and felt the need to announce it's presence over the tannoy. The majority ignored him, but I and a Polish gentleman went to have a look, and take pictures.

The engine was Tangmere and is a Battle of Britain class engine apparently. It's definitely large and looks like it could take on an army all by itself. And yet, it was still very, very pretty.

And not at all like the 'spam can' it apparently acquired as a nickname.

How Folkestone has changed

I went to Folkestone on Wednesday and enjoyed lunch with old friend Joe-the-Photo. The town has improved since I last spent any real time there, which was over fifteen years ago, and a time when the drug culture was moving in and bringing the town down with it.

Tontine Street looks nastier than ever, although I’m not sure how much it has declined, and how much it just looks like it has since some of the surrounding areas have improved.

But the Leas is much cleaner and the Triennial art installations dotted along it give it a measure of extra interest. Even the café above the Leas Cliffe Hall has gone a bit more upmarket. 

Some of the art installations are worth going to see in their own right. Such as the boats hanging in St Mary and St Eanswythe’s Church. There are a few blogs on the internet by people who have gone exploring properly and finding the artworks.

But most noticeable is the improvement of the little alleyways behind the High Street, which I’m sure are still creepy at night, but in the daylight are no longer seedy and reeking of bodily fluids, but lovely little picturesque sanctuaries away from the busy shopping areas. But the steep hill and cobbles mean that comfortable shoes are pretty much essential!

The pubs in the area used to be almost uniformly repulsive, but some of them have responded to the new order and risen to challenge, providing some really nice places to be a ‘lady who lunches’ and enjoy good food – but do remember, it isn’t London. For a start, some places and this includes some of the pubs, are cash only.

I think that the drug culture has now diminished and that, along with the massive injection of cash and energy into development and arts is really beginning to show. There is still a long way to go, but from one afternoon spent there, it has already become a place worth visiting, which is more than can be said for many other towns in the county.

The Orient Express trains have been in and out of Victoria regularly recently - it must be the season. I do find it very disappointing that the engine(s) attached to the beautiful old carriages are mostly the diesels.

I have a sneaking suspicion that they are are probably magnificent in their own right to one who knows about such things, but I know nothing. Therefore I do love to see one of the steam engines at the front of the Orient Express – they just seem to have a certain romance about them that the diesels lack.

Note to self: get picture of steam engine when it's next in, and don't delete it.

At the other end of the civilised spectrum, (but let's keep it civilised anyway) I had a Papanicolaou (smear) test a couple of weeks ago. Because I am in fact part alien (which comes as no surprise to many of you, I know), this always results in something like the following:

• Go see nice nurse,
• Gossip about cute men on telly,
• Get test done,
• Wait a couple of weeks,
• Get a 'your results are dodgy' letter (because 'sample not good enough' is too reassuring and I might not go back, apparently),
• Go see big burly Brunnhilde nurse,
• Receive instructions on proper positioning and deportment during test,
• Get test done,
• Get large glass of wine,
• Wait a couple of weeks,
• Get a 'your results are still dodgy' letter (because 'sample not good enough' is still too reassuring and they definitely don't want to risk me not going back, apparently),
• Go see elderly, portly, hairy, doctor,
• Listen to burblings about his grandchildren and his dodgy pancreas,
• Get test done,
• Get large bottle of wine with a whiskey chaser for good measure.
• Wait a couple of weeks,
• Get an 'all-clear' letter,
• Get large bottle of whiskey,
• Swear never, ever to go through that again ever (until next time).

This is been my experience pretty much for the last twenty-five odd years, no matter the doctor, the surgery or town where I've had it done.

This time was a completely new experience. I saw nice nurse, who informed me that I was an alien and instructed me on an advanced contortionist yoga-like position that made pretzels look positively straight. Test was done, and three working days later, NHS letter was waiting for me when I got home. Now this was so unbelievably fast, that I was actually worried about opening it. 

It was, fortunately, the all-clear, but I was so shocked at the speed and efficiency, I by-passed all the other stages and went straight for the whiskey anyway.

August is the summer holidays of my workplace. Not a whole lot to do, which makes up for the crazy mania of most of the rest of the year.

So there's not a lot to report. Never mind the London riots which have spread around the country from Gillingham to Bristol and from Croydon to Birmingham - I get an elevated view of Brixton on the train, but that's the closest I've been so far. It's good to see the post-disaster community spirit is alive and well, with @riotcleanup and #riotwombles on Twitter being used to great effect to get thousands of people on the streets cleaning up.

Speaking of which, predictably social media is being blamed for the riots. Which is rubbish of course - riots have been occurring since the assassination of Julius Caesar, and organised communication has certainly been different, but no less effective. It's people that cause riots.

Anyway, the sum total of accomplishment that I have achieved is painting my hallway. It was a spontaneous decision, and I decided to go for a lighter colour, and a complimentary shade as I can't reach all the way to the ceiling.

I made creative cloud edges to separate the new colour from the old colour. And as it dried, the new colour got darker. And now the colours are so close to identical that I can't see where the old ends and the new begins. Oh well. Still need to paint the ceiling and skirting boards, but the walls look much better.

Olympics, Maze and seagulls

I had occasion to visit the Olympic village at Stratford last week. It's really quite impressive, not least because it looks like it may actually be finished on time.

But the overwhelming impression I was left with was that the whole thing is going to look like an enormous buffet lunch. This is not necessarily a bad thing, you understand, simply an observation.

The stadium itself looks like a salad bowl. Next to it is the velodrome (I think), which has already been locally nicknamed the 'Pringle' due to it's distinctive roof.

On the other side is the fish factory. The one that had to be moved to make way for the stadium. They completely lucked out with their new location and I'm sure they are looking forward to a roaring trade next summer.

And then the centre-piece is the table ornament which at the moment looks like a helter-skelter. I even think the Dome may be close enough to qualify as a dessert.

When not on construction sites, I occasionally get to go to posh restaurants, and again last week, I went to Gordon Ramsey's Maze restaurant in Grosvenor Square. I had high hopes as I'd seen good things on the telly. Now I should point out that it was a corporate affair and therefore perhaps not comparable to fare offered to the individual customer.

The food was divine. Combinations of flavours and textures I'd never even imagined were presented, and while sometimes surprising (salmon on the same plate as watermelon?), it was all, without exception, utterly gorgeous. It was all beautifully presented, the waiter service attentive yet not intrusive, and the surroundings lovely and smart without being too ostentatious.

There was only one downside - there wasn't much of it. For anyone reading who doesn't know me (and there are a few of you now!), I have a BMI of 21.6, so not skinny, but hardly what you'd call a piggy either. I left right after dessert to catch a train, and was hungry enough to inhale a large baguette from Pret A Manger on the way to the station. 

For the last 11 years, my car has been constantly covered in seagull poo. I know that periodically a couple nest on my chimney, and one or two can be seen having a screaming match on my roof.

Brands Hatch looking pretty.

But mostly I have pigeons and sparrows, yet the poo is rather too large even for pigeons.

A few days ago, I discovered that my car is in fact, the local public toilet with gulls specifically paying visits. I think I should start charging them - the going rate is 30p a visit, according to London Victoria railway station, which means I would be a millionaire this time next week.

Slip sliding away!

Last Thursday I was Swindon at the National Self Build & Renovation Centre. It hasn't changed much since the last time I was there, but the demonstration houses inside never fail to amaze.

And going backwards in time again, on Wednesday I was on a Search Engine Optimization course. I didn't realise how much I didn't know!

This weekend at Brands Hatch was very, very soggy.

Add to that one of the cars in the first race on the first day dumping oil around half the track, which created an ice rink effect on some of the sharpest and fastest corners, and we had a fun-filled weekend.

A spectator put together the video here, and I think it shows a good snapshot of what the weekend was like.

I hasten to add that, quite apart from the spins and tumbles, there was some excellent racing going on, with cars going to head-to-head with sometimes three or four vying for that top spot.

There were many bumps and bruises, and possibly the odd broken bone, but as far as I know at time of writing (and I stand to be corrected here), no one was seriously hurt. Although I'm given to understand that the five-point seat-belts in the Mini's may need to be reviewed given the anatomical arrangement of the gentlemen drivers and their propensity for crashing and rolling...

From posh gardens to truck tours



After the joys of the Henley Re-GAH-ta on Friday, it was off to the Hampton Court Flower Show on Monday, which was full of new and interesting ways to lay out one's garden.



Most were very clean and neat, kind of zen, and more fashionable than imaginative. But there were some that stood out even if it was just one small detail. 

LORAS garden.

The LOROS garden of light and reflection, for example, was aimed at patient therapy and relaxation. It would not have looked out of place at a Centre Parc spa, but it was the water feature that I particularly liked - a ball of flowing water which was then channelled through the patio to the pond area. 


Night garden - in the dark.



Of particular interest was the night garden, which looked stunning in it's evening environment - lots of LEDs mixed in with a central pond and a patio on one side, a lounger area on the other - all inside a darkened tent.

There was a fungus garden, which needed to be viewed through rusty periscopes, but looked beautifully alien. The only problem was finding it, because the sign was quite small, and it looked like a bunch of rusty bins until you realised that the 'bins' were in fact the periscopes.

There was a garden - more of a pond than a garden really, that was bizarrely beautifully with its bowl of air, hedge and girl inset into a lake.

Pink!

Then there was the bright pink garden which is only forgiven because it was there for health of the Waterworks variety.

A lovely pub lunch by the river finished off the day which was just lovely.

On Wednesday I was in Reading for the opening of a truck - I'll leave that one to your imagination. The interesting bit about this trip was picking up a date for Saturday night on the M20.



I only noticed the car in the first place because he was trying to climb into my boot at Junction 10. We kind of vaguely played tag up the M20, which amused me a bit. Then at the M20/26 junction he pulled alongside with a note ' UR gorgeous!' which made me smile a lot.

We definitely played tag along the M26 and came across the junction with the M25 which was at a crawl as usual. 'Come here often?' was the next sign after we'd integrated into the crawl.

After a couple more cutely cheesy exchanges he tried to give me his phone number, but my pens were in the back, so I decided to let fate play the hand. We got close enough side by side that I was able to throw my business card through his passenger window thinking that the wind would probably take it.

It was a spot on shot - he called me later and we went for a drink Saturday night. He's very sweet, but totally not my type. Having said that, he was a much better conversationalist than many, and I thoroughly enjoyed the evening.

In other news, I've just had valuations on my little house, which it turns out should give me exactly the right amount to sell up and buy a boat. A little bit too exactly, but still. Enough to look at lead-times and advanced costs before making that leap.