The Anti-Colouring Book

Design a postage stamp for the first letter mailed from Mars:

The beautiful in-between bits

I have a new-found respect for the words "unremitting" and "unrelenting".

The most accurate description of anything, ever, has to now be "a swine of a climb up the B6278 to the Waskerley Way, aptly called Crawley Side".

Coast to Coast

Whitehaven to Tynemouth traversing some of the most beautiful parts of Britain.


The start found us sheltering in a tunnel for Tesco's trolleys in a rather derelict Whitehaven (where the sea gulls like to party ALL night). The rain soon became a permanent feature of the holiday along with the wind, which, according to the C2C Bible, should be behind you. I can confirm this was not the case.


The finish found us sitting in the sun outside the Baltic sipping coffee and debating whether or not the newly-found sly cake was better than an Eccles.

Holiday reading...before the holiday

The guidebook I borrowed from the library informs me that the essential holiday reading for Kefalonia is Captain Correlli's Mandolin and The Odyssey.

The former was read long ago and I have no desire to re-visit it. The latter scared me half to death. Without opening the book to even peek at the pages I'd decided this was something I'd never manage. I had visions of lists of names that meant nothing to me - like in the Bible: the sons of Obed Edom - Shemaiah, Jehozabad, Joah, Sachar, Nethanel, Ammiel, Issacher and Peullethai or Russian literature - hang on, who's Bosoi? Is that the same fella as Nikanor Ivanovich?

However, having despatched all reading materials back to London by Parcelforce from the Lake District (along with the tent, sleeping bags and superfluous items of clothing; the hills!) I was in need of something to read on the train journey back from Newcastle.

Blackwell's provided me with The Odyssey. I'm wondering if, deep-down somewhere, the argument was put forward that having just cycled 160 miles in five days through the lakes and over the Pennines, wind-whipped and rain-lashed, I can now do anything. Including reading The Odyssey.

And, you know what? I can and I did and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I'm amazed.

Learning to draw

One of the things I thought I would never be able to do is draw.

On a whim I picked up an 'inspirational self-help' guide in the Tate (goodness ever knows why). Oh, what fun I have had!

It started off well when I drew a rounded bottom to my mug (Amnesty Women for freedom, freedom for women that I've had for about thirteen years). He (Danny Gregory) tells me "the test of whether they are really looking comes when they draw the bottom. Almost everyone will just draw a straight line across". And, I didn't.

I've realised I don't actually care how good my drawings are in the traditional sense. I'm enjoying myself immensely (and they can only get better!).

A. I have been treading grapes.

B. My shoes got so wet at Ascot yesterday they dyed my feet.

London buses

I like buses. Especially the top deck. You have the choice of checking out the odd bunch on board or the passing humanity down below; or a combination of both.


The downside to bus travel is attempting a new route or destination. How do you know where to get off?

There is an answer.

(As I discovered about thirteen years ago in Berlin). I've experienced my first talking London bus. The "2-0-5 to Mile End". The next stop is announced shortly before you arrive. Simple...but so useful.

Just a shame I knew where I was going.

Cameron and his bike

I do consider myself a cyclist now (which is fortunate given I depart for the C2C tomorrow) so I do feel qualified to mention Cameron and his blessed bike.

C. has had two stolen over the past couple of years. I am lucky enough not to have suffered the same fate.

The Sunday Mirror recovered Cameron's bike and reunited it with its rightful owner.

There are, I believe, two lessons to be learned here:

1. you need to exercise a certain amount of common sense when deciding where to secure your bike (twat)

2. it still helps to be Somebody (even if that it is the leader of the Tories) than a Nobody (my bike would surely not be returned).

Leake Street. Waterloo.

Street art allowed; tags and names not.

Three teenagers are approached by two police officers.

"Where's the spray can, lads?".

One of the boys stutters, "Our teacher's got it".

All eyes turn to me.

Finding out just how reslient you are

Two funerals in ten days.

Fourteen year-old pupil. Police investigation on-going.

Father of four, mid-thirties. Completely avoidable.



"Miss, do you wonder sometimes if your heart is too big?".

Looking after the class pet

When I asked C. if he minded me bringing home a pet from the school's animal club for the holiday he shrugged disinterestedly. I took that for a no and he guessed he'd be sharing the flat with a hamster or a gerbil.


Meet George.


A two-foot long water dragon.

Holiday Reading

Breakfasts

Saturday. Bar Italia. Frith Street.
2 large black coffees and 1 bacon and egg ciabatta.
Discussion: final plans for Cuba.

Sunday. Patisserie Valerie. Spitalfields.
1 large black coffee and 1 croque monsieur.
Discussion: snow, tourists and moustaches.

Monday. Burger King. Ilford.
1 black coffee, 1 fries and 1 whopper.
Discussion: none.

Tuesday. Debenhams Cafe. Oxford Street.
1 black coffee and 1 pain au raisin.
Discussion: when the Easter holidays should be.

A week in the sun

Holiday company hierarchies

Families with very small children.

Families with bigger children.

Families with teenagers.

Groups of three or more.

The hierarchy for boarding coaches from the airport to hotels last night. Thirteen hour delay.

“Well, we must be next,” I said to C. cheerfully. “They can't do much to pigeon-hole couples.”.

“Don't bet on it,” replied a voice from behind me. “Married. Living in sin. And then us. Sodomites.”.

Books Etc

The shop assistant scanned the three books I had placed on the counter. Slowly, very slowly, he raised his head from the till and fixed me a long hard stare.

“Heavy duty...”, he commented.

I smiled. “And?”

He hesitated.

“And male”.

I laughed. “Holiday reading”, I replied.

Conspiratorially, confidingly, he lent forward over the counter. “People at Canary Wharf buy trash to take on vacation”.

He withdrew, pulling himself up straight. Admiringly.

Nabakov. Chekov. Hamilton.

Things that have been said to me today

1. Pupil: Don't you think you should have a baby soon? You are getting on a bit.

2. Work Dad (leaping off chair): Those stockings are too sexy for work. You can't interview in them. Are there any male candidates? You're putting them at a disadvantage. You need to think before you get dressed in the morning.

Lunch

- Your lunch looks, well, too healthy. That pot of seed things looks like something my guinea pig would eat...And, what's that?

-Beetroot.

- Beetroot?

- Would you like to try some?

- NO!

- Do you know what happens if you eat too much beetroot? ... Your pee turns purple.

(and your poo, yells a colleague).

- You're not exactly selling it to me, miss.

I love London books

It's good!

Should have gone to Specsavers

We've all been there.

On the tube or train or bus. Intently looking at a woman's stomach trying to work out whether or not she's pregnant. You don't want to be impolite if she is; you don't want to offend if she isn't.

The man who offered me his seat Monday evening on the Central line clearly needs his eyes testing. After my uncontrolled laughter I doubt he'll ever ask another woman ever again if she wants a seat.

My waist is a rather small size eight.