Angela outside the Town Hall.
A Guiri by the Thames.
Angela looking glamorous for the rowing hunks by the Thames.
Captain of the coxless fours!
Showing posts with label UK. Show all posts
Showing posts with label UK. Show all posts
Henley
A day out by the thames. A visit to the posh town of Henley, home of the Regatta. Would Angela manage to get me in any shops? Not a chance! Well, only one or two...
Angela outside the Town Hall.
A Guiri by the Thames.
Angela looking glamorous for the rowing hunks by the Thames.
Captain of the coxless fours!
Angela outside the Town Hall.
A Guiri by the Thames.
Angela looking glamorous for the rowing hunks by the Thames.
Captain of the coxless fours!
Hangover in Reading
A great way to start the big semi-final day in Reading. A massive hangover! It is safe to say that it isn't a good idea to mix cocktails, lager, wine and god knows what else. So a trip into Reading for some fresh air and painkillers before the big kick off.
Angela feeling the effects of last night or a premonition about the result later.
Reading town centre.
London Street Brassiere.
The walk along the river. A notorious place where the local gangsters and drug dealers hang out. Hardly downtown Baltimore. They are even too polite to throw the Waitrose shopping trolley into the river. Proper posh!
Scenic views along the river just before it meets with the Thames.
Angela feeling the effects of last night or a premonition about the result later.
Reading town centre.
London Street Brassiere.
The walk along the river. A notorious place where the local gangsters and drug dealers hang out. Hardly downtown Baltimore. They are even too polite to throw the Waitrose shopping trolley into the river. Proper posh!
Scenic views along the river just before it meets with the Thames.
London Street Brassiere
A trip to Reading to see Angela. My very own private nurse. But she doesn’t come cheap. For services rendered, a night out in Reading. London Street Brassiere.
I arrived in Reading around 6:30ish. The perfect time for a post work aperitif. Except, it turned out to be a few more. No time to go back to Ange’s to get changed. Straight to the restaurant for our meal. With suitcase.
The staff at London Street were great. Suitcase sir? No problem. You want a Caipirinha sir? We have no Cachaca but we will make you something special. Don’t like the starter’s sir? We will make you a special Spanish tapas just for you. If you ever find yourself in Reading and want to treat yourself to a nice meal, I would highly recommend this place. If you are taking Angela with you, make sure you are on good terms with your bank manager.
Later, Angela, me and my suitcase went in search of some dancing. Then we realised that was a bit too ambitious so we went to a cocktail bar by the river. A few more Caipirinha’s, some dodgy vino and it was time to go home.
Nurse Angie!
February was a month of firsts for me. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be my first skiing trip. That went by the wayside due to the other upcoming firsts. My first operation!
I’ve managed to keep myself away from hospitals for nearly 40 years (note the nearly Angela, just saying!). To say I was a little nervous was an understatement. It was only a “hernia operation”. A simple surgery to break your duck I suppose. But it still meant a General Anaesthetic. Still uncharted waters.
A big thanks to all my friends who helped me through the traumatic experience. All the staff at the Alexandra in Cheadle were superb at making me feel relaxed and they took away any fears I had about the operation. A very big special thank you to my private nurse, Angela. You were a rock! Still, it wouldn’t have been so special without a trademark “Angelism”. You didn’t disappoint!
Private Nurse Angie!
With the operation over and the effects of the anaesthetic wearing off, it was time to think about checking out. The nurse came in to check on my blood pressure. It was on the low side, but nothing to worry about. So I could go home then?
“You’re listed as an Inpatient. You won’t be going anywhere tonight.” was the reply. Panic began to set in. I’d never been in hospital overnight in my life. Surely my private nurse could save the day?
She sprang in to action. “She’s pulling your leg”. The nurse insisted she wasn’t. Angela went to the end of the bed and checked my chart. “Oh yes. You’re down as staying overnight”. The nurse then began to re-assure me. It’s standard procedure. The insurance is paying for it. The meals are excellent. You will be better cared for overnight.
At least the grub is good.
The conversation then turned to the weekend. I was shocked to find out that Saturday was going to be a busy day. Surely any self respecting surgeon would be on the golf course on a Saturday? Apparently they prefer to earn the cash with private work. They even schedule surgery on Friday evenings. Cue Angela.
“Yes but they can’t do surgery after 10pm”. Angela explained it was all to do with your natural biorhythms. I felt an Ange moment coming.
“That’s why most people die in hospital around 4am!”. Thanks, Ange. Very comforting to know that seeing that I’ve just been told I will be kept in overnight.
I’ve managed to keep myself away from hospitals for nearly 40 years (note the nearly Angela, just saying!). To say I was a little nervous was an understatement. It was only a “hernia operation”. A simple surgery to break your duck I suppose. But it still meant a General Anaesthetic. Still uncharted waters.
A big thanks to all my friends who helped me through the traumatic experience. All the staff at the Alexandra in Cheadle were superb at making me feel relaxed and they took away any fears I had about the operation. A very big special thank you to my private nurse, Angela. You were a rock! Still, it wouldn’t have been so special without a trademark “Angelism”. You didn’t disappoint!
Private Nurse Angie!
With the operation over and the effects of the anaesthetic wearing off, it was time to think about checking out. The nurse came in to check on my blood pressure. It was on the low side, but nothing to worry about. So I could go home then?
“You’re listed as an Inpatient. You won’t be going anywhere tonight.” was the reply. Panic began to set in. I’d never been in hospital overnight in my life. Surely my private nurse could save the day?
She sprang in to action. “She’s pulling your leg”. The nurse insisted she wasn’t. Angela went to the end of the bed and checked my chart. “Oh yes. You’re down as staying overnight”. The nurse then began to re-assure me. It’s standard procedure. The insurance is paying for it. The meals are excellent. You will be better cared for overnight.
At least the grub is good.
The conversation then turned to the weekend. I was shocked to find out that Saturday was going to be a busy day. Surely any self respecting surgeon would be on the golf course on a Saturday? Apparently they prefer to earn the cash with private work. They even schedule surgery on Friday evenings. Cue Angela.
“Yes but they can’t do surgery after 10pm”. Angela explained it was all to do with your natural biorhythms. I felt an Ange moment coming.
“That’s why most people die in hospital around 4am!”. Thanks, Ange. Very comforting to know that seeing that I’ve just been told I will be kept in overnight.
P&H Christmas Party 2010
The office christmas party. The highlight of the working year? Well it would have been if I was sat on a beach in South East Asia like the previous year. Never mind, this year's party included a free bar. Just what the doctor ordered to soothe my toothache.
But it wasn't just the tooth that gave me pain. I was stung for the first round of drinks. Free bar? Yes, after 7:30pm. I was in the chair 10 minutes early. Oh well its Christmas. Bah humbug!
Nick and Karen.
The hot topic over the Christmas dinner was the arrangements for the wedding of the year. Well, not the actual wedding. The most important bit. The stag do. Magaluf here we come! Congratulations to Nick and Karen. Another romance that blossomed during an earlier Christmas Party.
Me and Leanne hit the dancefloor.
Alison and Angela show off their keep fit routine.
Gerry and Michelle strutting their stuff.
Teresa tells me that I will be stung twice, I think.
After several bottles of vino had been emptied, along with numerous pints of lager, there was still time for one more. But the free bar ended it midnight. Get your wallet out Dino lad!
But it wasn't just the tooth that gave me pain. I was stung for the first round of drinks. Free bar? Yes, after 7:30pm. I was in the chair 10 minutes early. Oh well its Christmas. Bah humbug!
Nick and Karen.
The hot topic over the Christmas dinner was the arrangements for the wedding of the year. Well, not the actual wedding. The most important bit. The stag do. Magaluf here we come! Congratulations to Nick and Karen. Another romance that blossomed during an earlier Christmas Party.
Me and Leanne hit the dancefloor.
Alison and Angela show off their keep fit routine.
Gerry and Michelle strutting their stuff.
Teresa tells me that I will be stung twice, I think.
After several bottles of vino had been emptied, along with numerous pints of lager, there was still time for one more. But the free bar ended it midnight. Get your wallet out Dino lad!
Election fever grips the kids
The May elections with its presidential style debates and the prospect of a hung parliament had many people excited over the campaign. You would think the only exciting prospect for the kids was an extra day off from school. However, Sophie and Jessica had taken more of an interest.
Sophie and Jess on a mission.
So on an unusually sunny day in Carrbrook the girls wanted to a little canvassing during our bike ride around the village. Well, they wanted to find out what Auntie Lyn thought of the party leaders. After receiving some welcome refreshments the girls decided to test the political water.
Sophie and Jess make their first opinion poll.
“That Brown will make me work until I’m 95!” exclaimed Sophie after telling Lyn she couldn’t possibly vote for him.
“And I’ll have to work until I’m 99!” Jessica added.
“Are you going to vote for Pudding Face?” Sophie had obviously been hearing my mum’s political views.
The excitement soon faded for Sophie but little Jess was still excited on the day of polling. She went with my Mum and Dad to her school to cast their vote. She witnessed them collect their ballot paper. Go into a little booth and make their choice. Then they posted it into the box. All the while little Jess was watching transfixed in silence. As they left the school Jess couldn’t keep quiet any longer.
“Is that it? How boring!”
Sophie and Jess on a mission.
So on an unusually sunny day in Carrbrook the girls wanted to a little canvassing during our bike ride around the village. Well, they wanted to find out what Auntie Lyn thought of the party leaders. After receiving some welcome refreshments the girls decided to test the political water.
Sophie and Jess make their first opinion poll.
“That Brown will make me work until I’m 95!” exclaimed Sophie after telling Lyn she couldn’t possibly vote for him.
“And I’ll have to work until I’m 99!” Jessica added.
“Are you going to vote for Pudding Face?” Sophie had obviously been hearing my mum’s political views.
The excitement soon faded for Sophie but little Jess was still excited on the day of polling. She went with my Mum and Dad to her school to cast their vote. She witnessed them collect their ballot paper. Go into a little booth and make their choice. Then they posted it into the box. All the while little Jess was watching transfixed in silence. As they left the school Jess couldn’t keep quiet any longer.
“Is that it? How boring!”
A round at Royal Duki
"You always win because you have home advantage and your own clubs!". One of Uncle Martin's theories on why he doesn't seem to get the better of me on Spanish soil. Well, the tables were turned. I was back in the UK at his home club with a borrowed set of sticks. How would I fare?
Martin and Shane on the opening Tee.
The borrowed set came from Shane, who joined us for a knock. It was a Thursday evening tee off at Dukinfield Golf Club. The weather was more like Spain than Manchester. That could work out to my advantage.
"Royal Duki" is going through a facelift at the moment. Phase one is complete in the form of the spanking new 1.2 million pound club house. Very posh! However, the changes to the course have not been completed meaning that only 17 holes are playable. Some of these are temporary holes where it's obvious you are playing from a tee that belonged to a different hole. Work is going on at the Hyde side to make 4 new holes. It's probably another year off completion.
A par-3 in the quarries.
My game started off confidently with a decent tee shot on the opening par-3 hole. I took an instant like to the spare clubs. They are now officially my UK set, although Shane doesn't know it yet. Some of Martin's comments seemed to ring true though on the next few holes. Not knowing the clubs I tended to over hit them. Not knowing the course I left myself with tricky inbetween shots. The result was a shaky start.
Club selection time.
When I settled down I started to hit some good shots. However, the old problem of playing a terrible shot after scoring well on the previous hole kept wrecking my confidence. There are some tricky holes on the course, not least in the dreaded "Quarries" section. Extremely narrow fairways and tricky elevated greens making shot selection difficult.
What will be the 18th Green.
At the end of the round I had done just enough to win the day. The new theory advanced was that Shane's spare set are "Better than the crap ones you've got in Spain". Lets hope the run continues when we play Herons Reach at the end of the month!
At least the 19th hole is complete.
Martin and Shane on the opening Tee.
The borrowed set came from Shane, who joined us for a knock. It was a Thursday evening tee off at Dukinfield Golf Club. The weather was more like Spain than Manchester. That could work out to my advantage.
"Royal Duki" is going through a facelift at the moment. Phase one is complete in the form of the spanking new 1.2 million pound club house. Very posh! However, the changes to the course have not been completed meaning that only 17 holes are playable. Some of these are temporary holes where it's obvious you are playing from a tee that belonged to a different hole. Work is going on at the Hyde side to make 4 new holes. It's probably another year off completion.
A par-3 in the quarries.
My game started off confidently with a decent tee shot on the opening par-3 hole. I took an instant like to the spare clubs. They are now officially my UK set, although Shane doesn't know it yet. Some of Martin's comments seemed to ring true though on the next few holes. Not knowing the clubs I tended to over hit them. Not knowing the course I left myself with tricky inbetween shots. The result was a shaky start.
Club selection time.
When I settled down I started to hit some good shots. However, the old problem of playing a terrible shot after scoring well on the previous hole kept wrecking my confidence. There are some tricky holes on the course, not least in the dreaded "Quarries" section. Extremely narrow fairways and tricky elevated greens making shot selection difficult.
What will be the 18th Green.
At the end of the round I had done just enough to win the day. The new theory advanced was that Shane's spare set are "Better than the crap ones you've got in Spain". Lets hope the run continues when we play Herons Reach at the end of the month!
At least the 19th hole is complete.
Classic Ange
You would think that I would have learnt over the years. As long as I can remember, any visit, trip or night out with Ange is accompanied with an “Angism”. Something so uniquely Ange that it is marked indelibly on the memory. Although she saved it for last, this visit was not an exception.
The day started off pleasantly enough. A typical relaxing Sunday morning you would think. I had planned to catch the 11:00am train (well, bus as it happened as there were engineering works on the route) to get me to Guildford, and then on to Gatwick in plenty of time for my 3:40pm flight to Málaga. Angela was not having it.
“Its only an hours drive away, I’ll take you to the Airport!”. Oh why did alarm bells not start ringing?
Angela had arranged a day out with friends at the London Irish rugby match for the Afternoon. So she would need to drop me off at around 12:30ish. Not a problem. She went out to pick up a friend from Reading station as I packed the last of my things. It was 11:30am when the Classic Ange moment struck, as she returned from the station.
“The traffic is horrendous. It might be better for you to walk to the station.”. A slight tinge of panic started to set in.
“But you were taking me to the Airport?”.
“Oops. Can’t you catch the train?”.
“Seeing that the train/bus left at 11am, not really.”
“OK then. Lets go”.
Off we crawled to Gatwick Airport. Still, there was time for Ange to take the top down on the Merc. Well, I suppose you have to take advantage every chance you get over here. The traffic around Reading was gridlocked due to roadworks. Ange started to panic. I can’t quite follow the logic of what goes through Angela’s mind at the best of times. During a crisis you can forget it.
“Shit. I’ve forgotten the rugby tickets. Should I turn back”. No problem, Grant was waiting in the apartment. He can collect the tickets for you.
“Shit. I haven’t got a cardigan!”. No problem, remember the solution to the first problem?
“Shit. I haven’t got my trainers!”. Mmmm. I’m pretty sure Grant can carry more than one thing at a time. The panic seemed to lift momentarily from Ange. I knew that this was only temporary.
Angela "Hamilton" Hughes in the Merc.
“Can you drive the car?”. Alarm bells ringing. What is going through her pretty little mind now?
“I can run to the house and get my things and catch you up.”. Deep breath Dean. Respira! Which part of the plan “Let Grant bring your things” was not getting through? To take her mind off things I set about fixing her car kit. Car kit repaired. Dare I say it, calmness restored.
“Shit. They’ll have to leave my ticket at the box office!”. It was creeping up to 12pm. The rugby was not starting until 3pm. A quick call was placed to Karen. The sound of her voice calm, definitely sounding like the “Classic Angism” had been experienced plenty of times before, as Angela explained the latest crisis. Karen re-assured her that they could find there own way to the stadium, and with the invention of Mobile phones, could easily arrange to meet her outside when she arrived. Minutes later we had got to the roundabout and passed the troublesome roadworks. Ange put her foot down and the Merc hurtled towards Gatwick. Calmness restored to Ange. Panic beginning to rise in one slightly frightened passenger.
The next drama happened as we approached the M4. The entry ramped looked fairly busy from a distance.
“Better find another route!” and with that Ange swung the Mercedes out of the entry lane and continued on down the A road to Guilford. With that manoeuvre, was Angela back in control?
“The important thing is to make sure you catch your flight. Its not all bad, at least my briefs match my bra”. Normality restored. As we passed the Motorway, we could see queuing traffic stretching as long as we could see up the motorway. At this point I seemed to remember that there was a train that left Guildford at 1pm. We changed plans and headed for Guildford station.
It was touch and go whether we would make it in time. The sat nav had been programmed to Guildford. The problem was that it was showing two stations in the area. We decided to wing it and take our chances. The clock was ticking. A frantic race in true Top Gear style. A few wrong turns and with 2 minutes to spare we reached the station. A quick goodbye and I raced into the station to buy a ticket and find the Gatwick line.
So much for the 1pm train. My mind had been playing tricks on me. The next train to Gatwick was 13:50. I should have been safely tucked away in the exec lounge at that time. But what could I do? The adrenaline of the rush to the station had subsided, strangely replaced by a sudden urge to have a pee. All the time in the world now so I headed in search of the toilets.
Guildford Station. Quite a large station. Not as big as Piccadilly but bigger than Stalybridge. Must be at least 7 platforms. On the commuter route to London. God knows how many passengers come through this place every day. Sum total of toilets in the station? One, and that was closed for “upgrades”, since February. On enquiring where the nearest convenience was I was told to head for the town centre. Calm down Dean, plenty of time. I headed into the town centre.
My urge to pee was now being kept company by sudden hunger pangs. I spotted a Subway and thought it would be a good idea to kill two birds with one stone. I ordered my foot long sandwich and was about to head for the toilet.
“Sorry, out of order!”. What the bloody hell is wrong with Guildford! I hurriedly left shouting “back in a minute” as I renewed my search for a loo. Luckily I spotted a sign for a “24 hour” facility near to a multi-storey car park. That was going to be plan B but hallelujah it was open and fully functional. I quickly returned for my foot long and paid the extra for the meal deal. A bucket of coke is just what you need!
The train turned up on time and we headed towards Gatwick. I have never been before and didn’t have a clue how far the station was from departures, or where it was. All I knew was that the train pulled in at 14:40 and I had 15 minutes to find it. Luckily, the station is slap-bang next door to the south terminal, and that’s where Monarch fly from. What was all the panic about? I made it to the gate just as boarding started. Angela, you are forgiven. Until the next time!
The day started off pleasantly enough. A typical relaxing Sunday morning you would think. I had planned to catch the 11:00am train (well, bus as it happened as there were engineering works on the route) to get me to Guildford, and then on to Gatwick in plenty of time for my 3:40pm flight to Málaga. Angela was not having it.
“Its only an hours drive away, I’ll take you to the Airport!”. Oh why did alarm bells not start ringing?
Angela had arranged a day out with friends at the London Irish rugby match for the Afternoon. So she would need to drop me off at around 12:30ish. Not a problem. She went out to pick up a friend from Reading station as I packed the last of my things. It was 11:30am when the Classic Ange moment struck, as she returned from the station.
“The traffic is horrendous. It might be better for you to walk to the station.”. A slight tinge of panic started to set in.
“But you were taking me to the Airport?”.
“Oops. Can’t you catch the train?”.
“Seeing that the train/bus left at 11am, not really.”
“OK then. Lets go”.
Off we crawled to Gatwick Airport. Still, there was time for Ange to take the top down on the Merc. Well, I suppose you have to take advantage every chance you get over here. The traffic around Reading was gridlocked due to roadworks. Ange started to panic. I can’t quite follow the logic of what goes through Angela’s mind at the best of times. During a crisis you can forget it.
“Shit. I’ve forgotten the rugby tickets. Should I turn back”. No problem, Grant was waiting in the apartment. He can collect the tickets for you.
“Shit. I haven’t got a cardigan!”. No problem, remember the solution to the first problem?
“Shit. I haven’t got my trainers!”. Mmmm. I’m pretty sure Grant can carry more than one thing at a time. The panic seemed to lift momentarily from Ange. I knew that this was only temporary.
Angela "Hamilton" Hughes in the Merc.
“Can you drive the car?”. Alarm bells ringing. What is going through her pretty little mind now?
“I can run to the house and get my things and catch you up.”. Deep breath Dean. Respira! Which part of the plan “Let Grant bring your things” was not getting through? To take her mind off things I set about fixing her car kit. Car kit repaired. Dare I say it, calmness restored.
“Shit. They’ll have to leave my ticket at the box office!”. It was creeping up to 12pm. The rugby was not starting until 3pm. A quick call was placed to Karen. The sound of her voice calm, definitely sounding like the “Classic Angism” had been experienced plenty of times before, as Angela explained the latest crisis. Karen re-assured her that they could find there own way to the stadium, and with the invention of Mobile phones, could easily arrange to meet her outside when she arrived. Minutes later we had got to the roundabout and passed the troublesome roadworks. Ange put her foot down and the Merc hurtled towards Gatwick. Calmness restored to Ange. Panic beginning to rise in one slightly frightened passenger.
The next drama happened as we approached the M4. The entry ramped looked fairly busy from a distance.
“Better find another route!” and with that Ange swung the Mercedes out of the entry lane and continued on down the A road to Guilford. With that manoeuvre, was Angela back in control?
“The important thing is to make sure you catch your flight. Its not all bad, at least my briefs match my bra”. Normality restored. As we passed the Motorway, we could see queuing traffic stretching as long as we could see up the motorway. At this point I seemed to remember that there was a train that left Guildford at 1pm. We changed plans and headed for Guildford station.
It was touch and go whether we would make it in time. The sat nav had been programmed to Guildford. The problem was that it was showing two stations in the area. We decided to wing it and take our chances. The clock was ticking. A frantic race in true Top Gear style. A few wrong turns and with 2 minutes to spare we reached the station. A quick goodbye and I raced into the station to buy a ticket and find the Gatwick line.
So much for the 1pm train. My mind had been playing tricks on me. The next train to Gatwick was 13:50. I should have been safely tucked away in the exec lounge at that time. But what could I do? The adrenaline of the rush to the station had subsided, strangely replaced by a sudden urge to have a pee. All the time in the world now so I headed in search of the toilets.
Guildford Station. Quite a large station. Not as big as Piccadilly but bigger than Stalybridge. Must be at least 7 platforms. On the commuter route to London. God knows how many passengers come through this place every day. Sum total of toilets in the station? One, and that was closed for “upgrades”, since February. On enquiring where the nearest convenience was I was told to head for the town centre. Calm down Dean, plenty of time. I headed into the town centre.
My urge to pee was now being kept company by sudden hunger pangs. I spotted a Subway and thought it would be a good idea to kill two birds with one stone. I ordered my foot long sandwich and was about to head for the toilet.
“Sorry, out of order!”. What the bloody hell is wrong with Guildford! I hurriedly left shouting “back in a minute” as I renewed my search for a loo. Luckily I spotted a sign for a “24 hour” facility near to a multi-storey car park. That was going to be plan B but hallelujah it was open and fully functional. I quickly returned for my foot long and paid the extra for the meal deal. A bucket of coke is just what you need!
The train turned up on time and we headed towards Gatwick. I have never been before and didn’t have a clue how far the station was from departures, or where it was. All I knew was that the train pulled in at 14:40 and I had 15 minutes to find it. Luckily, the station is slap-bang next door to the south terminal, and that’s where Monarch fly from. What was all the panic about? I made it to the gate just as boarding started. Angela, you are forgiven. Until the next time!
Oxford
A weekend trip to see Angela in Reading. After managing to get lost at Reading train station (50/50 chance of getting the right exit and I go wrong) Angela finally rescued me at the back of the car park. We walked back to Caversham, Angela carrying a file with things that looked suspiciously like work (not this weekend kid) and other “goodies”. A pack of leaflets, flyers and printed Internet pages. 101 things to do this weekend. Although the wine tasting, James Bond experience (Speedboat up the Thames in reality), adventure parks sounded wonderful, I really wanted to go and see Oxford.
“Not a problem!”, Ange cheerfully replied and dumped all her plans in the bin.
Before that, a little shopping was in order. Gadget shopping so that’s OK. Ange wanted a Freeview recorder and I was deemed “expert” for the day. A quick trip to Comet and we found the perfect item. Unable to resist the lure of the gadgets I succumbed and finally bought a new Ipod classic. The previous model was well past its best and its better to stick with what you know. Besides, Monica wouldn’t let me get a PSP!
Arriving in the city of the dreaming spires, we headed for Broad Street to find a walking tour. Spain is famous for its fiestas. The running of the bulls, Flamenco, Romerías and assorted festivals. England as Morris Dancing, and there was a competition running in the main street. I never quite understand it but young and old were participating in traditional dress. There were a group that had blacked out their faces. Don’t really understand that one but whatever floats your boat.
Very English.
The walking tour started from Broad Street, outside Trinity College. Our guide for the day, Stuart, started on a down note.
“My first advice is to never visit Oxford on a Saturday”. Oops, too late mate. The reason being that Saturday is the favoured day for weddings. Most Alumni of Oxford chose to get married at their old college. This resulted in most colleges being closed to the public. Trinity College was a case in point today. Closed for a wedding, a rather posh one at that as Stuart saw the Bishop of Oxford in attendance.
The tour started with Jesus College. Here Stuart explained the “Collegiate System” that is used at Oxford and Cambridge. All students belong to a college where they would reside, be assigned a tutor, and eat. They would attend college for tutoring but not lectures. Most of the students’ social life centred around the college. Therefore, the choice of college is all-important. A college does not specialise in a certain field but the student must choose a college that has a Fellow in their chosen subject. Therefore, students of smaller subjects are quite limited to the choice of college open to them.
Most colleges follow a similar design template. Many are based around an inner quadrangle. This was mainly for the protection of the students from the local population. Oxford is the oldest English speaking University in the world. It was founded after a fall-out with the French, where most affluent English people would attend University. The locals didn’t take to the students and violent confrontation was not uncommon. Indeed, many students were attacked and killed in its early days. Hence, most colleges have a defensive feel to them.
The Dining Hall at Jesus College.
Our first port of call was the dining room. This is dominated by the portrait of Queen Elizabeth I, the patron of the college, that hangs above the table reserved for the Fellows. Students would be served breakfast, lunch and dinner. The latter a formal occasion where students were required to wear their gowns and had to be seated before the Fellows arrived, and could not leave until the Fellows departed. At the end of the dining room is a balcony area which is known as the “Minstrels Gallery”, an area reserved for various entertainers who performed at the college. Jesus College is historically a Welsh college. To this day it still attracts a majority of Welsh students. Between 1571 and 1915 there was an almost unbroken chain of Welshmen principals at the college. Famous ex students at Jesus include Lawrence of Arabia and Harold Wilson, their portraits can also be found in the dining hall.
Inside Exeter College Chapel.
The next college was across the street, Exeter College. The inner quad here is famous for being where the fictitious Inspector Morse died. We headed for another standard feature of most colleges, the chapel. At the entrance there is a bust of another famous alumni, JRR Tolkien. The insides are as impressive as the Victorian Gothic architecture. The college walls are also decorated with chalk drawn coats of arms with a list of names. These are the colleges rowing victories in the inter-college competitions. At the back of the college is an impressive garden that is used by the students to play croquet in the summer. It has stunning views of the buildings surrounding the college, including the famous Radcliffe Camera.
Outside the Radcliffe Camera.
Another famous landmark on the Oxford landscape is the Bridge of Sighs. Well, the oxford version anyway that connects Hertford College and was designed by Sir Thomas Jackson. Just beyond the bridge is a narrow passage named “St Helen’s” that leads to a decent pub that Stuart handed out free taste vouchers for real ale. We would be exploring that passage later.
Bridge of Sighs?
Our next port of call was described as “Harry Potter’s” college. Apparently, a number of scenes from the films had been filmed here, the New College. This is one of the biggest colleges in Oxford and certainly isn’t “new” being founded in 1379. Its official name is “St Mary’s college of Winchester in Oxford” and as St Mary’s already had a college it became known as the new college. The college is home to an impressive cloistered area where many Gargoyles can be seen on the surrounding buildings that have been designed to represent various Fellows. The dining hall is quite impressive and has been featured in the Harry Potter movies, although not the grand dining room unless they use trick photography.
The chapel is home to a number of treasures. The most prized being El Greco’s painting of St James, insured value around the 20 Million mark. The founders Crozier is also displayed nearby and is worth a fortune. In the Ante-Chapel there is a sculpture of Lazarus and fantastic stained glass window depicting the seven virtues.
Statue of Lazarus at New College.
Ange outside All Souls College.
That was the end of the tour and I would recommend it to anyone wishing to explore the colleges of Oxford. Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to climb the church spire for views over Oxford as it had just closed for the day. So we had to console ourselves with a trip to the Turf Tavern for a taste of real ale. Being a lager man the barman recommended a light ale ominously named Dragon Slayer. Not too bad. We day was finished off with a visit to a nice country pub for something to eat on the way back to Reading. Then it was time to play with the new gadgets!
A quick pint at the Turf Tavern.
“Not a problem!”, Ange cheerfully replied and dumped all her plans in the bin.
Before that, a little shopping was in order. Gadget shopping so that’s OK. Ange wanted a Freeview recorder and I was deemed “expert” for the day. A quick trip to Comet and we found the perfect item. Unable to resist the lure of the gadgets I succumbed and finally bought a new Ipod classic. The previous model was well past its best and its better to stick with what you know. Besides, Monica wouldn’t let me get a PSP!
Arriving in the city of the dreaming spires, we headed for Broad Street to find a walking tour. Spain is famous for its fiestas. The running of the bulls, Flamenco, Romerías and assorted festivals. England as Morris Dancing, and there was a competition running in the main street. I never quite understand it but young and old were participating in traditional dress. There were a group that had blacked out their faces. Don’t really understand that one but whatever floats your boat.
Very English.
The walking tour started from Broad Street, outside Trinity College. Our guide for the day, Stuart, started on a down note.
“My first advice is to never visit Oxford on a Saturday”. Oops, too late mate. The reason being that Saturday is the favoured day for weddings. Most Alumni of Oxford chose to get married at their old college. This resulted in most colleges being closed to the public. Trinity College was a case in point today. Closed for a wedding, a rather posh one at that as Stuart saw the Bishop of Oxford in attendance.
The tour started with Jesus College. Here Stuart explained the “Collegiate System” that is used at Oxford and Cambridge. All students belong to a college where they would reside, be assigned a tutor, and eat. They would attend college for tutoring but not lectures. Most of the students’ social life centred around the college. Therefore, the choice of college is all-important. A college does not specialise in a certain field but the student must choose a college that has a Fellow in their chosen subject. Therefore, students of smaller subjects are quite limited to the choice of college open to them.
Most colleges follow a similar design template. Many are based around an inner quadrangle. This was mainly for the protection of the students from the local population. Oxford is the oldest English speaking University in the world. It was founded after a fall-out with the French, where most affluent English people would attend University. The locals didn’t take to the students and violent confrontation was not uncommon. Indeed, many students were attacked and killed in its early days. Hence, most colleges have a defensive feel to them.
The Dining Hall at Jesus College.
Our first port of call was the dining room. This is dominated by the portrait of Queen Elizabeth I, the patron of the college, that hangs above the table reserved for the Fellows. Students would be served breakfast, lunch and dinner. The latter a formal occasion where students were required to wear their gowns and had to be seated before the Fellows arrived, and could not leave until the Fellows departed. At the end of the dining room is a balcony area which is known as the “Minstrels Gallery”, an area reserved for various entertainers who performed at the college. Jesus College is historically a Welsh college. To this day it still attracts a majority of Welsh students. Between 1571 and 1915 there was an almost unbroken chain of Welshmen principals at the college. Famous ex students at Jesus include Lawrence of Arabia and Harold Wilson, their portraits can also be found in the dining hall.
Inside Exeter College Chapel.
The next college was across the street, Exeter College. The inner quad here is famous for being where the fictitious Inspector Morse died. We headed for another standard feature of most colleges, the chapel. At the entrance there is a bust of another famous alumni, JRR Tolkien. The insides are as impressive as the Victorian Gothic architecture. The college walls are also decorated with chalk drawn coats of arms with a list of names. These are the colleges rowing victories in the inter-college competitions. At the back of the college is an impressive garden that is used by the students to play croquet in the summer. It has stunning views of the buildings surrounding the college, including the famous Radcliffe Camera.
Outside the Radcliffe Camera.
Another famous landmark on the Oxford landscape is the Bridge of Sighs. Well, the oxford version anyway that connects Hertford College and was designed by Sir Thomas Jackson. Just beyond the bridge is a narrow passage named “St Helen’s” that leads to a decent pub that Stuart handed out free taste vouchers for real ale. We would be exploring that passage later.
Bridge of Sighs?
Our next port of call was described as “Harry Potter’s” college. Apparently, a number of scenes from the films had been filmed here, the New College. This is one of the biggest colleges in Oxford and certainly isn’t “new” being founded in 1379. Its official name is “St Mary’s college of Winchester in Oxford” and as St Mary’s already had a college it became known as the new college. The college is home to an impressive cloistered area where many Gargoyles can be seen on the surrounding buildings that have been designed to represent various Fellows. The dining hall is quite impressive and has been featured in the Harry Potter movies, although not the grand dining room unless they use trick photography.
The chapel is home to a number of treasures. The most prized being El Greco’s painting of St James, insured value around the 20 Million mark. The founders Crozier is also displayed nearby and is worth a fortune. In the Ante-Chapel there is a sculpture of Lazarus and fantastic stained glass window depicting the seven virtues.
Statue of Lazarus at New College.
Ange outside All Souls College.
That was the end of the tour and I would recommend it to anyone wishing to explore the colleges of Oxford. Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to climb the church spire for views over Oxford as it had just closed for the day. So we had to console ourselves with a trip to the Turf Tavern for a taste of real ale. Being a lager man the barman recommended a light ale ominously named Dragon Slayer. Not too bad. We day was finished off with a visit to a nice country pub for something to eat on the way back to Reading. Then it was time to play with the new gadgets!
A quick pint at the Turf Tavern.
Manchester night out
A nice treat for Monica this weekend. A night out in Manchester! Monica was really looking forward to it. Not because of the location but because her friends from London had arranged to come up for the night.
Monica told me that they were due to arrive around 3pm. Really? That just happens to be the exact time that Latics kick-off against Stockport in the eagerly (well for me) awaited local derby at Boundary Park. No chance of talking her round so we caught the 3:45pm train to Piccadilly. I was gutted!
We arrived shortly after 4pm and there was no news from the London mob. No reply to the voicemail or text to both Sue’s and Carlos’s phones. I began to suspect a conspiracy as we sat down for a coffee at some over-priced Starbucks clone place. We decided to head into town for some “shopping” (definitely been set-up here) when Gary rang and saved the day. They had arrived just after lunch and went for a few drinks. The others fancied having a siesta before going out later. Apparently we weren’t expected until after 7pm!
We met Gary and headed to the Waldorf to watch the FA cup clash between Man Utd and Spurs. Typically, we had missed the best bit of the match and had to watch wave after wave of united attacks before they predictably equalised and took the lead in the space of two minutes, much to the dismay of Sue’s brother, Rob, a Spurs fan who turned up at that point.
After the game we headed back to the hotel to collect the other two. They were awake and smoking their heads off in between supping vodka and red bull. They looked well on the way before we had reached the bar downstairs for a quick one. The plan was then to head down Canal street for a couple. “Isn’t that the place Papá said to avoid?” asked Monica. It sure was.
Sue, Monica and Carlos at the Hotel Bar.
The girls in the mood to party.
I’m sure most people who had never been down Canal street have this wild idea of the village people clones roaming around, flashing pink neon signs and “Carry on” style innuendo banter all around. Well, the proof is in the pudding, as I never told Monica that it was the Gay Village as we entered the first bar, “Crunch 2”. She didn’t have a clue. The atmosphere was relaxed and mixed. Everyone was out to have a good time.
Carlos, Monica, Sue and gary on Canal Street.
After a few drinks by the canal we went in search of the Indie club that Gary had been to before. It was the “Fab Café” on Portland Street. On entry I was immediately transported back to my student days. The club pays homage to a number of science fiction programs most notably Doctor Who, with the Tardis and a Cyborg watching over the DJ. The DJ looked as if he was playing his favourite tunes in his bedroom, oblivious to the crowd on the dance floor and in the bar. Great music!
In the Fab Café.
Carlos strutting his stuff on the dance floor.
By the end of the night most of the London crew were completely wasted. We headed back towards the hotel in search of food when disaster struck. Carlos went flying head first into a rubbish bin. A deep cut on his chin, blood everywhere. Luckily, he hadn’t knocked any teeth out and the Alcohol had dimmed any pain. We forgot about the food and headed back to the hotel to patch him up.
Monica told me that they were due to arrive around 3pm. Really? That just happens to be the exact time that Latics kick-off against Stockport in the eagerly (well for me) awaited local derby at Boundary Park. No chance of talking her round so we caught the 3:45pm train to Piccadilly. I was gutted!
We arrived shortly after 4pm and there was no news from the London mob. No reply to the voicemail or text to both Sue’s and Carlos’s phones. I began to suspect a conspiracy as we sat down for a coffee at some over-priced Starbucks clone place. We decided to head into town for some “shopping” (definitely been set-up here) when Gary rang and saved the day. They had arrived just after lunch and went for a few drinks. The others fancied having a siesta before going out later. Apparently we weren’t expected until after 7pm!
We met Gary and headed to the Waldorf to watch the FA cup clash between Man Utd and Spurs. Typically, we had missed the best bit of the match and had to watch wave after wave of united attacks before they predictably equalised and took the lead in the space of two minutes, much to the dismay of Sue’s brother, Rob, a Spurs fan who turned up at that point.
After the game we headed back to the hotel to collect the other two. They were awake and smoking their heads off in between supping vodka and red bull. They looked well on the way before we had reached the bar downstairs for a quick one. The plan was then to head down Canal street for a couple. “Isn’t that the place Papá said to avoid?” asked Monica. It sure was.
Sue, Monica and Carlos at the Hotel Bar.
The girls in the mood to party.
I’m sure most people who had never been down Canal street have this wild idea of the village people clones roaming around, flashing pink neon signs and “Carry on” style innuendo banter all around. Well, the proof is in the pudding, as I never told Monica that it was the Gay Village as we entered the first bar, “Crunch 2”. She didn’t have a clue. The atmosphere was relaxed and mixed. Everyone was out to have a good time.
Carlos, Monica, Sue and gary on Canal Street.
After a few drinks by the canal we went in search of the Indie club that Gary had been to before. It was the “Fab Café” on Portland Street. On entry I was immediately transported back to my student days. The club pays homage to a number of science fiction programs most notably Doctor Who, with the Tardis and a Cyborg watching over the DJ. The DJ looked as if he was playing his favourite tunes in his bedroom, oblivious to the crowd on the dance floor and in the bar. Great music!
In the Fab Café.
Carlos strutting his stuff on the dance floor.
By the end of the night most of the London crew were completely wasted. We headed back towards the hotel in search of food when disaster struck. Carlos went flying head first into a rubbish bin. A deep cut on his chin, blood everywhere. Luckily, he hadn’t knocked any teeth out and the Alcohol had dimmed any pain. We forgot about the food and headed back to the hotel to patch him up.
Sophie and Jess
We can't go to Manchester and not see the terrible twosome! Now they have a new addition to the family, Mason. A cute little puppy! Problem is the next time we see him he will probably be as big as the kids!
With Sophie and Mason.
Jess and Sophie.
Jess having a dance.
Jessica and Sophie love Auntie Monica!
With Sophie and Mason.
Jess and Sophie.
Jess having a dance.
Jessica and Sophie love Auntie Monica!
Shane's 40th Birthday
Our first weekend away in 2009. A pity for Monica that it would be a freezing cold trip to Manchester. Shane gets the blame for this one. Fancy having your birthday in January. After picking up a shivering Monica from Manchester Airport it was off to the pub for a beef curry to warm her up.
Shane had booked his party at the Stanley Square club in Stalybridge. He was preparing all the food himself. Well, he asked Papá to make his “World Famous” potato ash (Three pans of the bloody stuff) and Denise was in charge of the buffet. Relations in both the Burkett and Schofield households were stretched to breaking point due to this classic Schofield scrooge tactic. Mamá and Papá were at each other’s throats whenever the words “potato ash” were heard. Meanwhile Denise had kicked Shane out of the house after botching up a simple task. “I ask him to do one thing….”. That was your first mistake Denise!
We arrived at the party around 8:30pm. An hour later than I had told Rawdo and Craig so we received ironic applause on arrival and plenty of abuse. They soon turned to their favourite baiting trick of discussing their tax returns with me. Rawdo was gutted that he had an astronomical tax bill of £80 for last year. Never tip a taxi driver again! The timeless “lets all laugh at City” response is as reliable as ever, even with their billions in the bank.
Rawdo and Craig depressed about their tax liabilities.
Mamá and Papá were sat with Uncle Martin and Auntie Lyn on a nearby table. Papá sitting restlessly, getting up every 5 minutes to check on the potato ash. He still managed to burn part of it. “I’ll mix that in when everyone is pissed” was his plan. Seemed to work as two and a half pans were consumed over the night. Shane giving the Ash his thumbs up and will probably finish off the stuff for lunch.
Mamá, Lyn, Martin and Papá at the party.
Shane likes the Ash.
The DJ was busy playing all Shane’s favourites from the 80’s. The problem was his playlist consisting of OMD et al didn’t seem to get anyone on the dance floor. People finally got up when the DJ succumbed and put Wham on and classics from the sixties.
We were soon treated to one of Shane’s master classes in public speaking. He thanked everyone for coming (“Cheers you lot”); presented flowers to the women who had helped prepare the food and the room for the party (“Come and get yer flowers then!) and hoped that everyone would enjoy the rest of their evening (“Right lets get pissed!”).
Shane gives another masterclass in public speaking.
The evening came to a close around 12:30am for us. Shane and a few of the party headed off to Stalybridge to carry on. We were in no fit state to continue so headed back home with the family. All to do again tomorrow night!
Shane and Monica.
Shane had booked his party at the Stanley Square club in Stalybridge. He was preparing all the food himself. Well, he asked Papá to make his “World Famous” potato ash (Three pans of the bloody stuff) and Denise was in charge of the buffet. Relations in both the Burkett and Schofield households were stretched to breaking point due to this classic Schofield scrooge tactic. Mamá and Papá were at each other’s throats whenever the words “potato ash” were heard. Meanwhile Denise had kicked Shane out of the house after botching up a simple task. “I ask him to do one thing….”. That was your first mistake Denise!
We arrived at the party around 8:30pm. An hour later than I had told Rawdo and Craig so we received ironic applause on arrival and plenty of abuse. They soon turned to their favourite baiting trick of discussing their tax returns with me. Rawdo was gutted that he had an astronomical tax bill of £80 for last year. Never tip a taxi driver again! The timeless “lets all laugh at City” response is as reliable as ever, even with their billions in the bank.
Rawdo and Craig depressed about their tax liabilities.
Mamá and Papá were sat with Uncle Martin and Auntie Lyn on a nearby table. Papá sitting restlessly, getting up every 5 minutes to check on the potato ash. He still managed to burn part of it. “I’ll mix that in when everyone is pissed” was his plan. Seemed to work as two and a half pans were consumed over the night. Shane giving the Ash his thumbs up and will probably finish off the stuff for lunch.
Mamá, Lyn, Martin and Papá at the party.
Shane likes the Ash.
The DJ was busy playing all Shane’s favourites from the 80’s. The problem was his playlist consisting of OMD et al didn’t seem to get anyone on the dance floor. People finally got up when the DJ succumbed and put Wham on and classics from the sixties.
We were soon treated to one of Shane’s master classes in public speaking. He thanked everyone for coming (“Cheers you lot”); presented flowers to the women who had helped prepare the food and the room for the party (“Come and get yer flowers then!) and hoped that everyone would enjoy the rest of their evening (“Right lets get pissed!”).
Shane gives another masterclass in public speaking.
The evening came to a close around 12:30am for us. Shane and a few of the party headed off to Stalybridge to carry on. We were in no fit state to continue so headed back home with the family. All to do again tomorrow night!
Shane and Monica.
P&H Christmas Party 2008
Its December already and that means its time for the annual Platt and Hill party. This was held at the Bower hotel in Chadderton, a popular venue, as it was the third time we had been here. Probably because it’s the only place in Oldham that would have us.
As usual, too many beers were drank and most of the night is a blurry haze. Still, in comparison to other years this one was on the tame side. Alison performed her acrobatics on the dance floor. Nick showed is cross-dressing tendencies by trying on Al’s shoes. Miraculously, Teresa remained soberish and managed to last until the end of the night. The boss made it 14 straight parties in a row where she managed to make me blush with her lewd comments. Darren failed to keep his trousers up again, performing what now seems to be an annual strip for the girls.
The boss never fails to make me blush!
Andrea and Paula leave the kids at home to party.
Al's usual floor display impresses Darren.
P&H girls on the floor again.
There were only the hardcore that stayed over for the night. By 2am the lightweights had long since departed. The remaining few ended up in Karen’s room for a few more drinks. Lights out at 4am. Until next year, Merry Christmas!
Teresa and Paula relatively sober for once!
As usual, too many beers were drank and most of the night is a blurry haze. Still, in comparison to other years this one was on the tame side. Alison performed her acrobatics on the dance floor. Nick showed is cross-dressing tendencies by trying on Al’s shoes. Miraculously, Teresa remained soberish and managed to last until the end of the night. The boss made it 14 straight parties in a row where she managed to make me blush with her lewd comments. Darren failed to keep his trousers up again, performing what now seems to be an annual strip for the girls.
The boss never fails to make me blush!
Andrea and Paula leave the kids at home to party.
Al's usual floor display impresses Darren.
P&H girls on the floor again.
There were only the hardcore that stayed over for the night. By 2am the lightweights had long since departed. The remaining few ended up in Karen’s room for a few more drinks. Lights out at 4am. Until next year, Merry Christmas!
Teresa and Paula relatively sober for once!