New Bar Opening

At some point in the New Year we'll have to have a grand opening of our new bar... anyone in?

Bang!! - 5th November

Tim put on a surprise Fireworks display in our back garden on Wednesday.

Here are some of the Fireworks going off... Please add your own sound effects

Fizz!


Oooh!


Wee!


Phizzt!


Ahhhh!


Fire!


Bang!!

Bloomsbury Birthday Ali Drinking - 27th Sept

There were two reasons for drinking on Saturday, Ali's birthday. Another year older! And Matt's last night in Blighty. Actually there were three reasons if you include my needing a drink before stepping in the hairdressers. I went for a timely chop; my hair having grown since my last visit in April by quite a few inches. I suddenly decided I wanted more than a quick trim, so I've come out with a bob. My hair is shorter than Caz's for the first time in ages. Pete said later, was it due to the credit crunch? It wasn't but I now have a hair cut that won't cost as much to wash and I don't need to dry it and style it for ages. Happy days!


© Copyright Alison Naylor

We got to Bar 55 in Camden just before 8am. The bar has had some name changes over the years. Always predominately a cocktail bar, it was in one incarnation where I went on my first date with Tim. None of these various bars have ever been known for their speedy service, but Bar 55 hit new heights of slowness. Since the cocktail happy two hours was just ending when we arrived, you'd hope that the bar might have emptied. But no, still the people came. It felt like Bar 55 was the only bar open in Camden. Even serving us in order we still had to wait over 45 minutes for our cocktails. I can honestly say I have never seen such a poor set up. We weren't the only ones to complain of the poor service.

We had less than 10 minutes to enjoy and gulp down our much anticipated cocktails before we were scheduled to leave for the Bloomsbury Bowling Alley. We've noted it's not a place for a quick drink and moving on.

Ali had paid for us to bowl upfront and after much muddling and confusing the Bowling Alley staff a few more of the group got in free than were supposed to. The rest of us entered with a text Kim sent us all to get in £1 cheaper than the advertised £6.

Dave was already there, one pint in. Unusually for the Bloomsbury we got served in next to no time. But then discovered they'd doubled the price of white russians and run out of draft beer. On a subsequent trip they ran out of the bottled Schneider Weisse and we were onto some unknown non-descript German Beer. After a few hours of drinking and catching up, Dave left to catch his train, so me, Caz and Andre decided to hit the floor for some Casino Royale Northern Soul dancing.








© Copyright Alison Naylor


© Copyright Alison Naylor


© Copyright Alison Naylor

The gang commenced their bowling at 1pm, we decided to pass on the bowling, especially after my efforts last time. No one needs to see that many gutter balls again.

Ali and Kim celebrating a good bowl.








The evening came to a close somewhere around 3am, when we all merrily headed home. I can only put my lack of bad hangover the next day down to all that dancing.

Red Onion and Thyme Homemade Bread

I've been busy baking bread, by hand and everything. After this successful attempt following this Waitrose Recipe I can see the Panasonic Bread Maker collecting dust....

if.com Nominees and Winners 2008

I can't let August pass without mentioning the Edinburgh Festival and the if.com awards.

I was pleased to hear Rhod Gilbert nominated for the main award.



As well as Kristen Schaal, the mad fan from Flight of the Conchords.

Main Award Nominees

David O’Doherty: Let’s Comedy
Kristen Schaal and Kurt Braunohler – Double Down Hearts
Rhod Gilbert and The Award-Winning Mince Pie
Russell Kane: Gaping Flaws

Newcomer Award Nominees
Mike Wozniak
Pippa Evans and Other Lonely People
Sarah Millican’s Not Nice

I wasn't too gutted that David O'Doherty won the main prize. His gentle Irish whimsy was unlikely to offend any one on the panel. Irish comedians do fair well at Edinburgh comedy awards.



And I think Sarah Millican is a worthy winner of the newcomer judging by this:

The almost perfect Birthday Cake!

Bar the one that Tim made me, obviously, this is possibly the most perfect Birthday Cake ever.



I should point out this wasn't made for me, but found by Rachel at this website:

Cake Wrecks

Ace!

Cornwall Here We Come!

We originally paid to stay at Croyde for 4 nights with the option to extend after this time. After nearly being swept out to sea, Croyde lost it’s appeal. We decided to move on and head for Cornwall.

We drove to Newquay and out towards Watergate Bay. Tim remembered a campsite at Watergate Bay that he thought was in walking distance of the sea. As we headed along the coast, Burt muttered and spluttered his way up and down the roads. We have to get Burt a new engine before next summer so he doesn’t have to continue embarrassing himself as he crawls up steep hills in 2nd gear begging for 1st.

The campsite Tim remembered was on the top of a particularly steep hill overlooking Watergate Bay. We arrived just in time to snap up a pitch with electricity; another camper had just vacated early. (Surely that should have been a sign?)

The pitch we had had possibly the best views of the campsite. Our neighbours to our right told us they always asked for the same spot for exactly that reason. Our neighbours incidentally were from Congleton, just up the road from my home town. I am apparently one of the few not to laugh at the word Congleton.




Views are all very well, but on a misley cloudy day we could barely see past the bay. On a good day you should be able to see to Newquay and beyond.

View of the Sunset through Burt's Pop Top




After putting the awning back up, again in a stiff wind with some nice light rain, we decided we’d earned pizza and a pint at the pub at the bottom of the Bay. Tim remembered the magnificent pizzas from his previous visit, and how at the end of evening you could take a pizza home back up the hill to eat.

First stop though was the Watergate hotel overlooking the bay. We took our drinks out on to the decking, the only ones to brave the elements for the fantastic view.











I think The Phoenix is a Watergate Bay institution. I spent some time there over the holiday. Forget any mockney restaurant, the Phoenix is what Watergate Bay should be about. With signs on all roads to Watergate Bay announcing the Phoenix is in an improbable amount of yards or metres. From our campsite there is a sign saying 50metres to the Phoenix, mmmm, possibly it should read 500 metres. Still as the crow flies…. If the crow was able to bend space and time…



Wednesday night was Open Mike night. Anyone with a voice or ability to play an instrument was invited to put their name down to play for beer.

We ordered and ate massive homemade pizzas, made by the Aussie chefs, which are highly recommended. Then watched local youngsters and holidaymakers peform. One guy who seemed wasn't a local arrived with a full sized keyboard and stand, having gone back to his holiday apartment to get it. No one new what to expect, but he nervously starts playing. He was brilliant fun. He rounds his set off with a song of his own creation. It's great. Each person who gets up claims to not be very good, but this is no dodgy karaoke. One girl working for the lifeguards, whom locals seem to know, gets up for the first time to unleash her near perfect voice. It was still talk of the pub a week later. Of course the beer we drank helped what our ears heard.

The walk back up to the campsite had to be done by torch light along the road. That hill the first night was long, steep but wasn't too bad with a few drinks inside us. By the end of the holiday our calf muscles were killing us.

Next day it brightened a little so we put on the damp wetsuits and headed down to the bay. My first time back in the water since the incident at Croyde. The water was calmer. I stayed in the shallow water. I was calmer.

Next day I had a rest day whilst Tim took his longboard in the water for the first time. I had a lovely sit on the beach writing and taking photos.







On Friday night we headed back down to the Phoenix for pizza and live music. There was a local band playing advertised on their chalk board sign, whose name intrigued us, The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists. I had thought what a great name, however it's not as inspired as I thought. On googling their name I discovered it's a book title.

This was a band with a lead singer with Billy Childish moustache and something of his manner. Playing various instruments from washboard to accordian and guitar in between, they sounded like they should be part of the gypsy punk scene. Questioning them afterwards I'm not sure they appreciated the Gogol Bordello comparison. Back in the day I imagined seafarers and smugglers would have been similarly huddled, singing sea shanties with a similar raucous affect. We drank like spirit of Shane McGowan was in the room.





On Sunday, the BBC forecast had given slightly miserable weather, so we thought we’d head down towards Falmouth for a VW festival that Burt’s previous owners had mentioned to us. We’d found a hat in Burt belonging to them, so we thought it might be a chance to return it.

Unfortunately I couldn’t access the directions for the showground via my phone. And the Nokia version of SatNav was next to useless whilst in the vehicle. Looking for signs all the way to Falmouth, we decided to head back along the route we‘d come. One last thought was to try a place called Stithians, as the Showground had the same name. All along the route there were signs for a County Show.

Finally we found the Showground, split in two, as it was hosting both shows on the same weekend.

We walked round the VW Jamboree but there was no sign of Mark or Sandra. We did see some very nice VW’s though. With a bit of love and money we could have Burt up there one day.

















Whenever we were passing through Newquay we always took Burt for a spin around Fistral Beach. The Fistral Beach car park backs directly onto the beach. Real surfers and their camper vans are there early in the morning to get the best space and probably the best waves. So as you drive around the bottom of the car park every other vehicle is a VW. Top popped. Surfing gear spilling out the back. All looking cool and shit. We'd get there late in the afternoon just in time to catch the last rays, waves and empty spaces left by exhausted families.

On our way back we decided to pop by. It was literally pouring with rain. Looking out across the beach you wouldn't have known it though. Take away the rain, it could have been any normal summers day, with people under their UV sun tents, sheltering from the sea breeze behind their windbreakers, playing bat and ball, building sand castles with moats. And surfing. After my last experience in the sea during some bad weather, I declined the offer of an hour or two bodyboarding, settling instead for a snickers bar and reading the previous day’s Guardian from the comfort of Burt‘s cab.









Monday was another day of forecasted cloudy weather, neither of us fancied another day in the sea, so we decided to go for a walk along the cliffs. You can walk from further along the coast from Mawgan Porth to all the way to Newquay. We set off, betting each other how far we would get before we give up. I calculated the distance to Newquay Harbour must be somewhere between 5 to 6 miles.

With each Bay we reached we reached we bet the other to the next one, knowing we'd have to do the walk back.

We took the binoculars, which came in handy when looking for the mysterious Corn Buntings. All along the route from Porth to Tregurrian, by road or by path there are signs next to all the fields to warn of the Buntings breeding ground. Yet there wasn’t a bird in sight. However with some patience and the binoculars we spotted a couple.















We made it all the way to Newquay in time to look round the shops.

























Tuesday we were both back in the sea. I finally really got the hang of body boarding, though still unable to steer, so there were a few times I nearly flew into unsuspecting children.

Wednesday we were starting to feel quietly shattered. So spent the day sleeping and eating. Having discovered the café in the main part of the campsite that did take out full breakfasts in a bap, we were content.

On Thursday we decided to take Burt for a spin up the coast. We set off with the intention of heading to another beach. North along the coast heading back towards Devon is Polzeath. According to the right magazine's Polzeath is supposed to be a good surfing beach. As we drove in and round the beach road we could see the beach was rammed full with squawking families. So drove straight back out the other way.

We took Burt onwards, round the coast heading towards Tintagel. We came across a small sign for Port Isaac. After a discussion as to where the TV series Doc Martin was filmed, Post Isaac or St. Agnes, we decided to detour there. Looking for somewhere to turn round, we came across another sign directing us to Port Isaac, so we took it.

As you drive up to Port Isaac there are signs asking you not to park on the roads. Wide roads, with ample space and dozens of parked cars, but we decided to respect the residents and council's wishes and followed a sign for the beach car park. As we followed the signs the road became noticeably thinner and thinner, until we were directed to do a sudden left down a steep road. A road that was signposted as one way. The second we took that road two things happened, a sign appeared that said the Beach Car Park was closed and another that said vehicles wider than 6 foot could not navigate the street.

Tim calmly manoeuvred Burt slowly through the narrow cobbled streets of what appeared to be Toytown; whilst I covered my eyes. Every time I looked a pedestrian was inching passed, shuffling out of way, we needed all the room we could get. We eventually came to the Beach Car Park, it was closed because the tide was in. Asking a passer-by if we followed the road round would we be able to get through he waved us on up another steep hill. The road suddenly became two-way traffic, but without the room. A 4x4 heading straight for us. Unable to reverse we forced the 4x4 back up the road until there was enough room for us to squeeze passed.

Glad to be finally out of Port Isaac, incidentally it is the home of Doc Martin, Tim suggested going back round again! I’m not sure he was joking. We drove onwards up the coast. Driving through Tintagel, we eventually settled and parked up at Boscastle for a well earned Clotted Cream covered Scone and Pot of Tea.

On the way back Burt met some sheep...


Our other neighbours on the campsite were the only downside to our stay. They were the sort of people who give Northeners a bad name. Inconsiderate, loud and annoying, there is only so many times we could hear Amy Winehouse singing “Monkey Man” and the same early 90's rave hits over and over again. From 9 in the morning till 12 at night their TV would be blaring. Who goes on holiday to sit in their awning, in the cold, wet British Summer to watch Jeremy Kyle and This Morning. The strange thing was they didn't switch off the TV to play their CD‘s, just rather turn both up trying to compete for sound. Strange, strange family.

We decided after yet another morning waking to Urban Hype and cloudy skies to pack up and leave early. Only by a day. It was great holiday, but time to go home.