Mumbles

Wales is a long way from Brisbane… a damn sight further than the Gold Coast or Sunshine Coast, and yet, it is a beach in Wales where I have first set foot on a surfboard (albeit for a only a few seconds at a time).

I first surfing attempt was at a small beach called Caswell Bay near to Mumbles (great name isn’t it!), a charming little beachside town about 5 miles from Swansea. The weather did not look promising. All week the Met Office forecast heavy rain and wind, and even as we drove from London on Friday night through heavy rain, weekend forecast was that same with the addition of flooding added for South Wales.

In true style for UK weather, Saturday dawned slightly cloudy, but dry and with only a light breeze. In fact the sun showed its face several times in the early afternoon. So, we headed for the beach.

As the trip had been arranged by one of my work-mates, we had a fair contingent present from the office; including 2 Directors, one of them being my boss. We all donned wetsuits as our instructor gave us a chat about the basics and then picked up our boards and fumbled our way out into the waves.

Again, the vagaries of British weather blessed us and we faced a 3-4 foot swell, very little wind, no sweep and a water temperature which was surprisingly bearable (although without a wetsuit it may have tested the endurance) which was just perfect as we were all of beginner standard.

Half an hour in and pretty much all of us had managed to get to our feet in some manner and after 2 hours we were looking quite… well… still like beginners really. We were having a ball, but starting to feel a tad weary. There is a surprising amount of effort needed. Not just in paddling out but in lifting yourself to your feet off the board. As I write this I am rather sore across the back of my arms.

And so, feeling satisfied, but tired, we retired to the pub for lunch and a pint or 2.

The following day dawned with even better weather than Saturday, unfortunately that meant there was no swell at all, so surfing was out, and while some of the group decided a swim would be in order (without wetsuits!) I decided on a more cosy way of passing the time and visited the local, cold, damp and crumbling castle. Oystermouth Castle sits on a hill overlooking the town. It’s not the world’s largest castle but for a huge entry fee of £1 you get to scamper over the ruins and take in the view of the town and bay.

The views are worth looking at. The Welsh coastline is striking. Small bays with sandy beaches and harsh rocky cliffs topped with emerald green fields forests. Next time, along with a spot more surfing, I think a bit of hiking is in order…

pussy cat, pussy cat

I have been in London since last November and I have been expecting, long before now, an invite to the Palace. Alas, none has been forthcoming. So, I have had to take matters into my own hands and go and take a look for myself.

A recent visit by friend Sam seemed a good excuse to wander up to Buckingham Palace and have a look around. Saturday morning found us queuing in the most civilised manner (with the exception of some very pushy – and I mean literally pushy – Spanish women) at the Ambassadors entrance. You get to see 19 state rooms (well that’s what the brochure says – I actually lost count) and you are soon overwhelmed by chandeliers, gilt mirrors and marble.

The high point is the state ballroom, currently laid out for a state dinner. Despite the milling throng and the waxworks footmen, the room is spectacular. The enormous number of plates and glasses is incredible and that’s before you get to staff, food and wine.

The tour finishes off in the garden and allows you to take your time and enjoy the lakes, lawns, trees and the ‘Royal Swamp’ as Sam identified what I am sure is considered a ‘pond’ by the gardeners. (But I have to admit it did have a swamp-like appearance)
And of course, like any great tourist attraction you can’t exit without passing through, in this case, the ‘Royal’ Gift Shop. We were both suckered into various purchases, but as gift shops go this one did have a certain air of quality… maybe it was all the plastic crowns and tiaras!

You know you are in Ireland when...

...people are drinking pints of beer at the airport when you arrive at 9:40am!

I spent my first day doing the booze tours... I bought a 'Dublin Pass' at the airport which got me my travel into the city and free access to most of the tourist attractions... pretty much got my value out of it on the first day, so I would recommend it to anyone visiting the city and wanting to go to a lot of tourist attractions.
I started at the Jameson's Distillery. A fantastic tour though the original distillery in central Dublin, finished off with a very pleasant whiskey - even at 11:30 in the morning (it was Ireland after all)

The distillery was followed that up with a tour of the Guinness Brewery. It was even better than the Distillery. I had lunch there... a very nice beef and Guinness stew washed down with a pint of the black stuff... did the tour and finished that off with another pint up in the bar on the roof with a great view of the city!Following all this drinking I thought it better to do something more sober, so I headed off to Christ Church Cathedral. While it was a very nice cathedral dating from Norman times I am fast reaching my quota of churches for the year! They are all starting to look the same!

The following morning I avoided religious sites, starting at Dublin Castle touring the state rooms, then taking the 3 mile walk to the old Gaol (also identified in the guide book as ‘Jail’ to help the American tourists) and finally back for a wander around the city itself.

Day 3, an early start and a train trip and I found myself in Limerick. It looked good on paper. In reality it’s a slightly sad place. There is no shortage of For Sale and For Rent signs. It does not have the beauty of the attractions of Dublin and felt depressed under the grey skies of the afternoon I was there. The afternoon was enough to see King John’s Castle, the Cathedral and a couple of small museums, and I was relieved to be on a train to Cork for the night.
Surely no trip to cork would be complete without a trip to Blarney Castle. It’s only a 15 minute bus ride from the city …and of course I kissed the famous stone (so if you have noticed any particular eloquence in my writing this posting you know why). Even without the stone the castle and grounds are worth visiting. Blarney is how a European castle should look; grey, foreboding, damp and slightly decayed, its age evident in every stone.

Right... well... clearly this is where the eloquence runs out...

an evening stroll in the East End

‘twas a dark and stormy night! …actually it wasn’t. The sun was setting over a clear skied London, throwing a golden light on the Tower and Sam and I were standing at the entrance to Tower Hill Underground station awaiting the start of the Jack the Ripper walking tour.

It was one of those things I had been meaning to do since I arrived, but it took the presence of a visitor to get it happening. The tour is conducted by London Walks (http://www.walks.com) who do a huge number of these type of things all over the city. I have done 3 now and they have all been great… but enough of the advertisement.
The tour was led by Angela, an Irish woman of substantial vocal capability. As she led us through the now gentrified streets of the East End she did her best to bring to life the dark, foggy world of the Ripper amongst the 1960’s office blocks and the roar of peak hour traffic. It wasn’t until we skulked down a side alley away from busy Aldgate to Mitre Square and the actual spot of one of the murders did she finally capture everyone. From here we stuck to back alleys which grew slightly creepy in the growing dark of evening despite the city bustling all around. Even in 2008 some of these lanes and alleys are isolated dark. Our guides graphic description of the 5th and final murder in a tiny alley off Artillery Lane provides the climax for the walk before we move to the final location, Christ Church Spitalfields (an edifice by Architect Nicholas Hawksmoor dating from the early 18th century) on one of the few street corners of the East End virtually unchanged since the Ripper’s time. The tour ends with a bit of supposition into who he might have been and the background of a few of the many suspects. Still know one know and it seems the lack of physical evidence still in existence will likely keep it that way. That of course does not stop the guesses… apparently he could even be buried in Brisbane, according to a recent article in the Courier Mail.