Lion Salt Works

Look where we went on holiday last year!

The Lachrymose Bactrian

I've always had a love-hate relationship with camels. Especially since Katie tried to exchange me for one in Gisa. However, after watching The Story of the Weeping Camel this evening, I felt a certain affection for them.

A dramatised documentary, the film tells the story of a Mongolian family of farmers in a remote part of the Gobi desert. The last colt of their herd of camels - a rare white colt (lovely and fluffy!) - is the result of a breach birth and is subsequently rejected by its mother. The family tries everything to reunite mother and child, eventually resorting to an ancient musical ritual which succeeds.

The photography is particularly worthy of note, capturing the bleak majesty of the desert and the cosy homeliness of the yurts. The trio of yurts were reminiscent of a Welsh farmhouse kitchen with life revolving around the stove and spare lambs in the corner!

The film was refreshing in its optimistic portrayal of traditional family unit, gradually responding to westernisation. The generations were not torn apart by the introduction of liberal values or other aspects of modern life. The piece only scratched the surface of their lives, of course, but was a welcome change from the usual doom and gloom.

Definitely a contender for the top ten films of 2004...

Tiger Tiger Burning Bright

I managed to catch Two Brothers last night, a story about two tigers who were separated as cubs and their reunion as adults. 

It starred a number of gorgeous tigers whose acting was worthy of Oscar nominations. Guy Pearce also appeared, as a big game-hunter turned treasure-hunter, having completed his transition from Neighbours cast member to serious thespian. His performance was not as remarkable as in Memento but was a vast improvement on his part in The Hard Word. The rest of the cast list consisted of caricatures from colonial life which detracted attention from the otherwise sentimental nature of the storyline.

The backdrop to the film was Cambodia and Thailand and there was spectacular scenery to admire despite the poor film print. It served to emphasise the film's conservation-themed message and will hopefully raise awareness of the plight of the world's few remaining wild tigers.

Along with the Station Agent, Lost in Translation and Twilight Samurai, Two Brothers is certainly one of the film highlights of 2004.  

Cilantro

I harvested the coriander seeds from our kitchen window sill today. It wouldn't ordinarily be worthy of an entry in the blog but for the three interesting facts which I found out whilst researching the care and cultivation of the plant:

1. It's only the seeds which are called coriander - the leaves are properly known as cilantro.

2. There's a Peruvian tribe who eat so much cilantro that they actually smell of the herb.

3. The word "coriander" comes from the Greek for bed-bug because the leaves are supposed to smell like bug-infested bed linen.

Happy Mondays

When my case went short, I decided to treat myself to an afternoon off in recompense for a weekend spent working. Fortunately, Dario had also been given time off for good behaviour so we headed down to the South Bank to enjoy the twenty minutes of sunshine which appeared!
 
We went to the Edward Hopper exhibition at Tate Modern as the sun went in. I was amazed to find that his painting career spanned over sixty years - from the start of the Twentieth Century through to 1965. Much of his early work was rooted in his trips to Paris - when he was oblivious to the up and coming Picasso but admired instead the work of the Impressionists.
 
Hopper's subsequent influence on Alfred Hitchcock was plain but Andy Warhol's source of inspiration was slightly more subtle.
 
The highlight of the exhibition for me was seeing the original of Lighthouse Hill (1927) - a print of which hangs on the wall downstairs. The colours were more vivid than I'd ever imagined and the shade so evocative. I also enjoyed the titles which he gave to his work - Captain Upton's House sounded like the home of a pirate whilst Excursion into Philosophy didn't quite look as it sounded!
 
After our dose of culture, we retired to the Real Greek Souvlaki & Bar by the Globe. I satisfied my appetite with delicious pan-fried ewe's milk cheese with pickled cucumbers followed by a monkfish tail souvlaki. I also had a sneaky ouzo mojito - perfect! We watched the Thames traffic go by (including Richard Branson's latest mode of transport) and set the world to rights.
 
To round off the day, Skene and I headed over to Ironmonger Row Turkish Baths, a London landmark with an interesting history. We did the full routine - frigidarium (for a warm-ish shower), steam room, plunge pool (Skene willingly, myself gingerly), tepidarium, calidarium and laconium (increasingly dry heat). Skene benefited from my amateur attempts at reflexology and we lazed in the tepidarium and I made a stab at some exercise with ten lengths of the pool. After a good scrub in the lavarium, we were glowing with cleanliness and almost relaxed. Ready for the rest of the week!

Coot Club

On our way home last night, we found that the three abandoned ducklings had snuggled up at the foot of the coots' nest. No doubt mummy-coot was very pleased to have some new foster children after she lost one of her own adolescents earlier this week - a happy ending.
 
We also followed a skinny fox along the canal. It led us to our front door, waving its white-tipped brush at us all the way. I shooed it along when it stopped by the side of the water for a drink, fearing for the wildfowl, but in fact, when it reached the ducks, old foxy-loxy seemed quite spooked!

St Swithin's Day

At 09h00 this morning, it was 95% humidity. And then it rained. The weather does not bode well for the next forty days...

Their Lordships

I'm going to the Court of Appeal tomorrow. For the very first time.

I've tried to keep this a work-free zone. Mainly because it's one thing to tell funny stories in the pub, about back-chatting Cherie Booth or prosecuting the ex-DPP Sir David Calvert-Smith, and another thing to start publishing them on the internet. Oops. The other side to it is that I like to think that I have an interesting life beyond the Bar. This week, that seems optimistic.

But seeing as tomorrow is a monumental day in my career, I thought I should record my feelings on the subject for posterity. My memories of my first day as a pupil, my first day on my feet, my first Crown Court trial and my first visits to the High Court seem distant now. If only I could be an old hack when it comes to the Court of Appeal.

As it is, I feel physically sick. I'm off both chocolate and cider - not a good sign. I don't know whether to laugh hysterically or cry. I am seriously considering resigning my tenancy and going to work in Tesco. Preferably a Tesco outside the jurisdiction.

The worst aspect is that my case is a loser. I am expecting the experience to be one of ritual humiliation. But as long as I've polished my shoes, I can hold my head up high...

Sunday Morning

A final burst of energy saw us head up Carlton Hill - more of a stroll than a climb, Katie made sure to point out. I went all soft over a baby rabbit but Skene wouldn't let me take it home...
 
As it started to rain, we headed back to the Royal Mile for lunch and an introduction to Brendan, Katie's man, who'd just flown in from Ghana. I can officially notify you that he has the Hacking seal of approval.
 
Our time north of the border came to an end all too soon and we rushed off to catch our train home. It was a clear day and so we looked out across the North Sea, admired Holy Island and I reminisced about all the canals in Yorkshire that we'd travelled along on holiday. 
 
Skene got very bored because he'd forgotten his colouring book but we reached King's Cross in the end.

What Katie Did

A traditional Hacking family early start saw us at the McEwan building at 10h00 for Katie's graduation ceremony. She endured many photographs being taken before we all headed inside the magnificent domed building.
 
We laughed at all the silly middle names and listened attentively to the acceptance speeches of two Honorary Doctors, one of whom failed his medical exams first time round! We were intrigued by the Ph.D. theses listed in the programme, not least: "The development of a multidimensional scale to measure irrational beliefs regarding frustration intolerance".  Jennifer was pleased to find her maiden-namesake graduating in veterinary science.  
 
Finally it was Katie's turn. She took the sponsio academica - a modern-day Hippocratic Oath - before doing very well to walk up to the stage without tripping when her name was called. Once there, she was tapped on the head with a big black bonnet by the Vice Chancellor whilst Tam Dalyell M.P., Father of the House and Rector of the University, looked on from the stage approvingly.
 
After more photographs on the Meadows, we changed out of our glad rags and drove down to the Firth of Forth. We stopped at the Cramond Inn for lunch - seafood chowder - and then braved the causeway to Cramond Island. From there we had stunning views of Inchcolm from whose Abbey the last monk departed, aged 98, three years ago. We could also see over to Inchkeith, which was, until recently, home to the last lighthouse keeper's widow and her diverse menagerie. 

We had a quick nap on our return to Edinburgh - all that sea air! - before heading over to Katie's flat for a champagne reception. We rounded off the day with a delicious meal at A Room in the Town.  

The High Road

We took the 18h30 to Edinburgh tonight - an entertaining but uneventful journey.
 
At Stevenage, the highly technical electric door system was thwarted by a discarded magazine. It took the GNER train crew around quarter of an hour to locate the fault before we could get under way again.
 
Further north, we made our acquaintance with a Geordie who impressed upon us the importance of never ever making the mistake of moving to Berwick-upon-Tweed.
 
Passing the Angel of the North, I was disappointed to see it flanked by two tower blocks which fortunately disappeared behind the crest of the hill as we approached. I pointed out to Skene, in a loud voice, that Katie had met Antony Gormley's brother in Africa. Unfortunately, there was no time to disembark and indulge in a little free-climbing.
 
Long after nightfall we crept into Edinburgh and walked up the hill to check in at our hotel. I went through my regular routine of inspecting the premises and in the drawers found an untouched Gideon's Bible but luckily no red lacy knickers, as I had found in the bordello-esque Hotel Mozart in Brussels! I decided against flicking through all the television stations, for fear that it might be a little dour and Scottish for that time of night. I did, however, do my usual trick of thinking I'd locked myself in the bathroom before settling down for a well-earned night's sleep.

Great Contradictions of our Time Part 1

On my way across Parliament Square this morning, I saw a Hare Krishna in saffron robes and brand new Merrell trainers.

On my way back, I saw a portly bishop with a mobile phone, laptop and suitcase trolley, looking every inch the well-travelled businessman.


(As the BBC say, we are "not responsible for the content of external sites".)

The Calm After The Storm

After high winds and heavy rain yesterday, there are scenes of devastation along the Albion Channel.

The avenue of trees by the canal has again shown itself to be not particularly hardy with branches torn off and scattered across the paths and in the water. Still, the coots are enjoying the fresh twigs and have refurbished their nest for their second brood of the season.

Just days after our first swallows were sighted, our rowan has lost half of its underripe berries - the blackbird will be hungry - and the cherry seems to have had all its leaves turned inside out!

There was poltergeist activity inside the house with the loft hatch lifting free and askew and the window catch being snapped off in the gales.

The rainstorm yesterday evening saw me at my most dynamic, trying to dodge between the raindrops.

The highlight of today though was the first appearance of a great-crested grebe chick. It is still too buoyant to dive but making a valiant effort, its zebra-head dress dipping down towards the weed in Canada Water.

Sailing By

Ever since I used to watch the canoeing lessons from my desk in Surrey Quays and the toppers from behind the bar in the Moby Dick, I wanted to have a go on the dock. But not in the dock. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the way it was going to work out.

Skene, Mark, Emma and I booked onto the RYA Level 1 Start Sailing Course at Surrey Docks Watersports Centre - thinking July would be sunny and dry. A poor forecast. The rain just about held off as we learnt how to rig and then float the boat - a Laser Pico, which looked just like a great big yellow washing up bowl. And then the wind really got going - Force 3 gusts, which might not sound like a lot on dry land but the general consensus was that it wasn't perfect weather for novices.

But there was to be no mercy. Skene and Mark set off first and were very quickly toppled. They righted the boat and carried on as though nothing had happened! Emma nominated me as helmsman when our turn came, due to my past experience as a tiller girl. We completed one beam reach and tacked around the orange buoy. We succeeded on a second beam reach but then missed the pontoon. So, ready about! lee ho!, we went around again. This time, we reached the buoy, our sail filled with wind, and our snail-like reactions meant that the boat was far from balanced. So over we went.

The boat capsized and we were thrown in at the deep end - literally. The water was thankfully quite warm - or maybe that was the four layers of clothing. Surprising myself, I leapt onto the daggerboard and hauled the boat upright. My climbing skills came into their own! I clambered aboard, not terribly graceful, whilst Emma steadied the boat. The dinghy then set off, of its own accord, and I left Emma behind, floundering in the dock. Oops.

Luckily, Emma was rescued by the speed boat and her flirting ensured that we had one to one tuition for the rest of the day. The instructors obviously thought us unfit to be in charge of a dinghy by ourselves! The extra help enabled us to achieve a close haul and more tacking upwind and there were no more men overboard.

The next morning saw me more than slightly reluctant to head back for a certain drenching. Emma, on the other hand, decided that she would rather try sailing in the crystal clear waters of the Caribbean, sensible girl, and left us to our fate. Rubbing my hands with glee, I thought this would guarantee me my own personal tutor again. No such luck and I was posted with Skene as my crew. He lazed around as though in a punt but did ensure that we remained upright and so our beautiful friendship survived. I resisted all temptation to go solo and remained dry throughout the day. Skene, on the other hand, fell off the back of his boat, trying to make it go faster. Splash!

By the end of the weekend, we had completed the course and could tack, gybe, sail up and down wind, lie to and, theoretically, avoid collisions. Next stop the City of Sails! But next time, I think I'd rather it was more Swallows and Amazons than Ellen McArthur...

White Rabbits!