Mike’s Place

Crete. Sissi.

My first holiday holiday (a holiday holiday being a holiday where all you do is be) in yonks. A holiday without the sightseeing, without the doing things: friends lent us some snorkelling gear – flippers, snorkel, goggles – we craftily left them at home. When I go in the sea I float on my back and look at the sky, none of that downwards stuff.

Just being. Sitting by a pool or the sea, looking into the sun so your eyes hurt. Then trying to read a book; something distant, removed, with short chapters. I took Imperial Bedrooms by Bret Easton Ellis. And The Information by Martin Amis (I started this in 1995, it’s about time I finished it).

Drinking is good too. That’s part of the deal. Cocktails even. As the sun goes down. In (it’s true!) a bar called Hemingway’s.

And food.

Ah! Food (not as in ‘Aaaah! Food’).

Food in Greece isn’t what I expected. I don’t know why but I expect food in foreign parts to be exciting, different, maybe blue. Certainly involving things I’ve never had before. Like Kakamaska and Toremosalinas. Or perhaps a Bigou plant. Or a Bigou fish. Or some Chevkasalakas. It doesn’t matter what it’s called, just make it exotic. I quite fancied some Fekhamadoras, but even they weren’t to be found.

Meat was available though. If you like Meat go to Crete. Lots of meat.

One of the restaurant’s recommended to us (for its authentic Greek cuisine) was Mike’s Place. It didn’t look too promising:

It turned out Mike’s Place was just up the road. This was simply where Mike sat to tell you what his daily speciality was.

Mike’s selling point was that he offered an ‘ecological menu’. This meant that all the meals came from Mike’s farm, just up the road.

I’m guessing here, but I think Mike lets a few animals (goats, sheep, chickens, pigs, octopi) run around his garden (free range) and every morning, when he awakes, he thinks to himself  “what should I kill today?”

He makes his decision, kills, then sits on his chair, by his sign. And as you pass he says: “Ecological menu. Today – goat – from my farm!”

We didn’t go on the goat day. We went on a lamb day. The vegetables came on a side plate. They had to, there was no room on the meat plate. Here’s my plate after I’d finished my meat.

I’ve made this pic  smaller. I’m not sure why. I think I may feel bad. Earlier in the day this was a little lamb, gamboling.

Here’s Mike’s farm (maybe). All I know is, the next day, as we walked past, there was one less goat.

possibly Mike's farm

And to think I used to be a vegetarian. I blame Mike. And Bret Easton Ellis.

Snow pics

It’s a horse eat cow world

The Life of Tess

Tess was born in 1990 and died in 2010 at the age of 20. If she were a human she would have been 96.

Tess (and her brother Bobbin, who died at the age of 15… 76 human years) spent their first 8 years living in Northampton; an outdoor life, living in a garden and a garage.

At the ages of 8 in 1998 they came to live with me and my then girlfriend. They then became indoor cats. They didn’t do much. Neither of them got a job and they rarely helped wash the pots.

But they did like long horse whips. With the right kind of flick of the whip they would leap 4 feet in the air and do acrobatic back flips. Why did I have a horse whip? A 4 foot long one with a 12 inch whippy tassle bit at the end? Well… when I worked on Live and Kicking we and the other presenters were sent lots of mail. Most of it lovely and sweet. Some of the presenters, however, would attract a more bizarre type of fan. Val would go through all of our mail before we got it, in case there was anything unsuitable. She would then censor it, and then we would all demand to see it. It’s difficult to censor (or hide) horse whips. These weren’t sent to me of course. Nor Jamie Theakston. The horse whips were sent to Zoe Ball. Zoe kindly gave me a couple. For the cats of course.

So, the cats enjoyed a couple of years playing with a whip. This, and sleeping, took up most of their days.

Somewhere along the line my life changed and I ended up moving to Peckham. The cats came with me. Tess liked to climb into bed and curl alongside me. I would have to turn her around when she tried to sharpen her claws on my… you get the drift. Bobbin would always stay on top of the sheets.

Then things changed again, I moved, and I couldn’t take the cats with me. My good friend Sarah took them. Only for six months mind, whilst I sorted myself out.

I’m still not sorted out and so six months became years. Bobbin and Tess became Sarah’s cats as much as (if not more than) mine. But I would visit, and they’d appear nonchalant. They loved me really.

They both stayed with Sarah until the end. Neither of them ever got jobs, and, to the best of my knowledge, neither ever helped Sarah even with the most basic of household tasks. No pot washing, no putting out the bins. Nothing. Just sitting around, eating and weeing and pooing. This is what cats do. It’s no good holding it against them. No point in getting angry.

If Tess had been human her life would have been something like this:

Tess was born in 1914, the year war broke out. By the time the First World War ended Tess was four years old. She was too young to be conscripted into the forces and she has little memory of the impact war had on her. She spent all of it living in a garage in Northampton.

Tess lived in the garage in Northampton until 1962, craftily avoiding all of World War II too.

In 1962, at the age of 48,  she moved to London to live with me. I was only a baby, new born, living in Salford. But somehow it worked out.

She stayed with me until she was 70. And then, around 1986, she moved in with Sarah. I don’t know what Sarah was doing in 1986, but I suspect she looked a little like this.

Tess was upset, for a short while, when her brother Bobbin went at the age of 76 in 1990. She missed him, but she didn’t miss his cheeky goes at her with his barbed penis (it’s a cat thing, don’t blame me).

She then settled into a happy and long retirement. When Tess announced her retirement the common response was “how would we know?”

And so to 2010.

96 year old Tess decided to call it a day. She’d had enough. On the journey to the vets she whispered in my ear. It was difficult to make it all out, what with her raspy little lungs and her shallow breathing, but what I could make out went something like this:

Thank you all for looking after me. Thank you Simon, thank you Sarah. I’m sorry I never helped out much. I wanted to wash the pots but I just couldn’t reach the sink. I’m sorry I never helped out in those World War things, but I wasn’t really there. It’s just you, Simon, doing this cat/human year thing. Though it’s a shame I can’t hang on a little longer just to get something from the Queen. Take  care, I’ll be fine. I love everyone who has looked after me. Bye.

With thanks to Andrea for the use of her photos. Andrea lived with Tess and Sarah for a while and Tess loved sleeping on Andrea’s bed. You can see many more  of her photos of Tess here.

Gig in the Park 2010

I’ve just come back from the Gig in the Park, Halesworth’s answer to Glastonbury. Not that Glastonbury is a question. Halesworth’s version of… oh, it’s just a… Why am I even trying to explain what it is? It’s evident. It’s a gig. In a park.

We were invited along by good friends whose parents live in Halesworth, in the most gorgeous cottage in the world. And this gorgeous cottage has lots of little cottages growing out of its side. And we get to stay in them. And they are five minutes away from the gig. And there are ducks!

Lots of ducks, and five of them are very special. They were rescued as chicks from a drain by Jen and Tony (our hosts; and Tony, being a retired RSPCA bigwig, knows about animal rescue). Now they are doing very well indeed.

Could this weekend break get any better? Well, we started of our Friday night park-gigging destroying Capitalism with Mundo Jazz. You can support them by buying some of their Fight Capitalism merchandise. I recommend the beer.

They were followed by Showaddywaddy.

No other group ever managed the combined Fifties and Seventies look in one go as well as The Shwads. What? No! Not even Darts.

They sang all of their hits. Except Tiger Feet. Because that was by Mud. It’s an easy mistake, that many people at the gig made.

And Dave Bartram, the grinning lead singer? Well, he’s still got that grin. His voice is shot to pieces, but who cares? All the ladies still go crazy for his cheeky voiceless grin, the damn 50′s/70′s freak. It’s as if someone put the 50′s and the 70′s into Jeff Goldblum’s Fly Pod and out popped Dave Bartram.

Well done, the Waddy’s, you made my Friday night.

There were lots of acts on; in the region of ten a day on the main stage, the same number on the mini-next door stage and then more down at the Jungle Stage. But, without meaning to be rude, although being patently and openly rude, some of the bands are a bit… well… weddingy. They’re good. Very good. But they might not quite do it for me.

The Shaddy’s did it for me. They’ve got what it takes. And also The Undertones, Saturday’s headline act, they did it for me.

They’re Feargal-less these days but don’t let that put you off. Paul McLoone’s a great replacement. You can just make him out in this clip from a distance one of the audience has put up from Saturday night’s performance. Sorry I haven’t any photos or films; I was too busy acting like a fool, throwing myself into the crowd at the front.

Sunday and the gig winds down. It ends with the Lee Vasey Band; local heroes who perform a set of crowd-pleasing classics, but the highlight of Sunday for me was on the small stage just before.

Benjamin Bloom is my kind of festival performer. I even bought his CD. Ok, it was only £1 but it’s the best pound I’ve ever spent. He won’t be for everyone and indeed some of my friends, I think, found him too bizarre. This is how I described him in two tweets, and I’m sticking with it:

Imagine Rick Wakeman having a child with Morten Harket. Then listen to that child. Or, if you prefer, Ron Mael mating with one of Billy Mackenzie’s whippets. This gives you Benjamin Bloom.

Have a listen to his tracks here. I guarantee you will be singing Kingpin or Brainwashed all day long after just one (maybe two) listens.

And if you read this Benjamin, me and Zoe were dancing down near the front. Some of our friends were dancing too,  maybe a little mockingly. Not me and Zoe. We both bought the CD and we are both big fans now.

Soon, I think, he will have some of the Gig in the Park songs up on YouTube. When he does I will put them up here and link to them.

Finally, another duck picture.

Bye Tess

Tess 1990-2010 (pictured on the 3rd June 2010)

Tess has gone.

On Tuesday night I had a call from Sarah, my good friend and Tess’ ‘mum’. Tess had been sick and was really not well. I went over and as soon as I saw her I knew her time had come. In the car I held her in my arms rather than put her in the cat box. She had barely any life left; breathing shallow and quick, hardly moving. As Sarah drove I put my finger in her paw just to feel a reflex, just to know that she was still with us. The sweet thing managed a bit of a purr now and then.

I didn’t like having to sign a form giving consent to ‘humane destruction’. I know this is another term for euthanasia but… destroying little Tess?

She was 20 years old. That’s old for a cat. If she were human she’d be 96.

I want to say thank you to all those who have looked after Tess (and her brother Bobbin too, who died when he was 15) throughout her 20 years. Those who, whether it was for years or hours, looked after her:

Dermot, Julie, Lydia, Paul, Trev and family, Andy and Thomas, David and Charlie, Simon, , Vic, Emily, Nick. No doubt many more I’ve failed to mention.

Finally a big big thank you to Sarah. Tess came to you to be looked after whilst I sorted out somewhere to live. You maybe expected to have the two for six months? A year? Tess has been with you for at least a third of her life. Thank you for caring for her so.

I will write some fun stuff about Tess soon. A twenty year history… but maybe viewed through a 96 year life. That’s to come. And, should you wish, you can read previous Tess posts here.

For now, rest in peace Tess.

Aalborg- the Movie(s)

Just under a month ago me and Zoe enjoyed a weekend in Aalborg, Denmark, courtesy of www.visitaalborg.com. I’d entered a competition to be a guinea pig. And I won! All I had to do in return was record our trip. I said I’d blog, and I did. If you want to read my Aalborg stuff and see the pics, just click on the Aalborg category down in the category cloud at the bottom of this page. (I know, category cloud, don’t blame me, that’s the future for you.) If you can’t be bothered scrolling down, just click here. And if that’s beyond you, just enjoy the films with their pleasing music.

Yes! I told them I’d make a film. At that point I didn’t even have a camera. I had my camera camera, a lovely gift from a very kind reader of my blog, and I know I could have filmed with that, but I’m old fashioned and don’t get these multi-purpose things. I’ve still not got used to music centres. And so Zoe very kindly bought me a Flip camera. What would I do without free holidays and kind friends?

Now the Flip thing is easy. Shoot, upload, click something and then it’s on YouTube. It’s easy. If you have a new(ish) computer. My computer is over 10 years old now. It has a 55GB memory. It is so slow it has taken me a month to upload a 30 second film.

They’re here now. They’re not much to look at. I’m maybe better at still stuff. I didn’t think it all through. I’ll never be given a free holiday again.

But at least they are accompanied by cheesy music. The music comes free with Flip. I used it because I was scared I’d get into trouble with the law if I used proper music. I was desperate to use Strange Animal by Sparks to accompany the zoo film, but I just didn’t dare. What if Ron Mael came after me, with his long arms and his ambiguous stare?

Here’s the films. First up, the Zoo film with a Woody Allen-esque jazzy vibe. Oh, and despite what you may have heard Whatever Works is funny.

Next, off to the art gallery with some low-rent Snow Patrol/Take That crap.

And Karolinelund, with a Flip piece called, oh I can’t remember, a Steel Band Calypso thing that just about drowns out the music of the arm wrestling machine man, but not, unfortuantely for you, my inane ramblings.

That’s it. Apart from the other films you’ll find under the cloud thing.

Oh, and I thought up a slogan: Aalborg- go there, it’s nice.

I hope I get sent somewhere else soon (other than prison or a loony bin… although either of those would be ok-ish, as long as I didn’t have to do any rude stuff or any fighting- it’d put a roof over my head).

Time to stop. I have to head to choir. I’m supposed to have learnt the words to The Time Warp by tonight. I haven’t. Bring on prison. Choir prison.

It’s astounding, time is fleeting, madness takes its toll…

Ray Harryhausen tribute at the BFI film quiz

Once a month I head off to the bar at the BFI Imax at Waterloo, London, to take part in the BFI film quiz. It’s only £3 and we all get to show off just how boffiny we are when it comes to obscure Polish film posters for forgotten Samurai classics starring Grace Kelly.

Ok, I’m mixing up the rounds. But it is a quiz for boffins and without the regular team of Jonathan, Jeremy, Nik, Shanine andDave, well, I’d be lost. Sure, I’ll know a few answers, but you can bet they’ll know the answer before the question’s finished. If I’m lucky there’ll be two or three questions where I might be able to help out. And those two or three questions could mean the difference between winning and losing. Last night we won by 6 and a half points.

We don’t know what the half was for. Maybe they were being kind on me when I said the name of Dennis Hopper’s character in the first series of 24 was Victor Drago (it’s Drazen). It took me long enough to get to Victor. first off I remembered it as Frank Drago. Then I couldn’t get Tony Drago out of my head.

Here’s the bar. and on it the Medusa. The BFI is having a Ray Harryhausen tribute, and as part of it they got us all to make monsters out of plasticene. Here’s a few of them.

Mine’s on the far right, sticking his tongue out. I also gave him what might be mistaken for a large penis. I don’t know why. I feel a little sick about it now. But then, he is a monster, and it may well not be a penis. It could be another leg, or nose. Look, I’m sorry, ok?

Here’s some of Ray Harryhausen’s creations in action, from one of my favourite titled films, The Valley of Gwangi. Cowboys, dinosaurs and lots of people running around screaming. What more could you want?

What? You want a tiny horse? Well, ok. Harryhausen’s your man for tiny horses. (If you can’t bear to wait, scoot forward four and a half minutes).

Dungeness

This was a day out. A drive around. earlier in the day we saw a donkey…

…and a turkey pecked my lens.

Stirrers

In the Godstone Farm tea room they have labelled their stirrers, “stirrers”. Those little plastic things that I use as oars when I put my non-existent Action Man in his non-existent canoe. Look! Action Man complete with tea stirrer.

I wonder why they chose to labe the stirrers but none of the other items of plastic cutlery or single serving condiments? Do farm visitors regularly pick them up and stare at them as if they were from the future? (the stirrers, not the people. People from the future would know a stirrer when they saw one I’m sure). Perhaps the staff are sick of people going up and asking “do you have something for er… stirring the tea?” What’s wrong with teaspoons? When did they go out of fashion? Did some folk see the stirrers as some kind of new-fangled cake cutter? Were they trying to eat their cakes with a stirrer, a crumb at a time?

I can’t think about this anymore. I have to go to choir. Bye.