Going to Cornwall was a bit like going to Middle Earth and visiting the hobbits- very pretty, green countryside and lots of small, slightly inbred, sunburnt locals with strange sounding accents (but alas, no hairy feet). It didn't feel like we were still in England as everything was 'Cornish', not English; Cornish clotted cream (devine, as thick as cheese and almost all fat), Cornish pasties (ditto fat content but very nice), Cornish cream teas (scones with more fantastic cream and Cornish jam- sublime), Cornish ales, Cornish fish, Cornish bus service (cheap and eficient).....you get the idea. The local accent was very country-sounding, like the cast from the 'Vicar of Dibley' crossed with a bit of Welsh. Sidekick and I tried imitating it on the bus which drew some odd looks.
We spent three nights in Penzance (with the pirates) in a nice pub right on the harbour, which was apparently owned by an L. Rowe (a long distant relative?). A full english breakfast was served in our room every morning which we began by eating enthusiastically, until the sight of eggs, beans and bacon became too much, even for sidekick.
We did the usual touristy stuff- Land's End, St Ives and found that nearly every other family of four with screaming kids was also doing the same. Both places were packed with tourists, a strangely comforting sight that even at the end of the world (or Britain), there is an icecream and souvenir shop.
The highlight of the trip was taking a sightseeing bus around the coastline between Land's End and St Ives. We were atop an open double-decker bus as it was a sunny day, but as the bus picked up speed, it joined forces with the wind and we were soon buffeted around the top of the bus. Sidekick took drastic measures and drew his jacket hood over his cap and then tightened the drawstring around his face, ending up with a type of face-as-squashed-bum look (photo to come). Instead of going downstairs, sidekick and I, as well as a few other diehard tourists, stayed on top in the gale-force winds, and were eventually rewarded with some lovely sights of west Cornwall; sandy beaches, sheer rock clifffaces, green fields dotted with black and white cows (the ones that produce all that milk for the Cornish clotted cream). We just couldn't move our fingers and other limbs afterwards.
We packed so much into our four days away that we only made the train back to London with 30 seconds to spare (courtesy of a last-minute dash to a pirate shop to buy important pirate souvenirs). Travelling by train for five hours was not nearly as arduous as it sounds, mainly due to the invention of the buffet car. We also happened to be sitting in the designated 'quiet carriage', a fantastic English invention where no mobile phones are allowed in the said 'quiet carriages'. It didn't however, extend to loud toddlers or slightly barmy/chatty older ladies, two of which sat behind us the whole way and kept up a steady stream of conversation about money, men, retiring, money, men- until they got off at Reading. Now if we could only get the train people to make separate carriages for 'loud, annoying people'.......
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Dawn raid
Our neighbour got arrested yesterday morning. They had been having another argument, the highs, lows and general gist of which was filtered down through the paper-thin ex-council flat walls into our bedroom. He was yelling again and she was angry, resigned. Neither seemed particularly concerned at the noise or intensity generated by their argument.
*Must insert a brief backstory here to give this argument some context- the neighbours' fights are almost a weekly or twice weekly occurrence. He is always very loud and she slams doors, treads in high heels, yells back. Once early on we thought it sounded violent and so, doing the neighbourly thing, we approached their door with concern on our faces, only to be meet with smiles and jokes by both. She looked dazed ('drugs' sidekick assumed confidently), whilst he seemed pleased with the attention they were getting from their neighbours). End of backstory.
Except this time , their raised voices were followed by the thuds of two pairs of feet treading the stairs upwards. Next we heard the neighbours' voices raising another octave at the sight of the police, the high pleading of the woman with the police, the crackle of the police radios as they contacted 'sierra bravo octopus' or something similar, after which there was a pause. Sidekick and I were really both fully conscious by this stage, though refusing to believe it and trying vainly to fall back into heavy early morning sleep.
The loud upstairs charade progressed as more pairs of feet went upstairs, a shuffle, quiet, then voices and stomping as many more feet came down. Sidekick rushed to the window in pyjamas and noted the old bill had come to 'cart her off'.
"What only her?" was my sleepy reply. 'What about him?"
That afternoon on re-entering our flat the same noises radiated from upstairs- his loud voice, her pleadings, whinings. She had already been released. All in a day's work really. London moves on.
*Must insert a brief backstory here to give this argument some context- the neighbours' fights are almost a weekly or twice weekly occurrence. He is always very loud and she slams doors, treads in high heels, yells back. Once early on we thought it sounded violent and so, doing the neighbourly thing, we approached their door with concern on our faces, only to be meet with smiles and jokes by both. She looked dazed ('drugs' sidekick assumed confidently), whilst he seemed pleased with the attention they were getting from their neighbours). End of backstory.
Except this time , their raised voices were followed by the thuds of two pairs of feet treading the stairs upwards. Next we heard the neighbours' voices raising another octave at the sight of the police, the high pleading of the woman with the police, the crackle of the police radios as they contacted 'sierra bravo octopus' or something similar, after which there was a pause. Sidekick and I were really both fully conscious by this stage, though refusing to believe it and trying vainly to fall back into heavy early morning sleep.
The loud upstairs charade progressed as more pairs of feet went upstairs, a shuffle, quiet, then voices and stomping as many more feet came down. Sidekick rushed to the window in pyjamas and noted the old bill had come to 'cart her off'.
"What only her?" was my sleepy reply. 'What about him?"
That afternoon on re-entering our flat the same noises radiated from upstairs- his loud voice, her pleadings, whinings. She had already been released. All in a day's work really. London moves on.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
The Three Sikhs
Everyday I catch a tube and bus with the same three Sikhs in their differently coloured turbans. Usually they wear varieties of pink and red, sometimes black and very occasionally, one will sport a bright orange one. We are a sort of team; they get off the tube carriage before me and we start a sort of race/run to the escalators (I like to think I win more than they do), go through the ticket barriers and then I lose them. They take a different exit at the tube stop to get to the bus stop. At first it took me a while to work this out, as I would feel them behind me as i raced through the ticket barriers (winning my imaginary race) and then they would disappear, our journey over.
Once at the bus stop, we wait quietly for the bus, which usually arrived at 7.30am. They even get off at the same stop as me. Initially I thought this was because they were stalking me (although their brightly coloured headwear made them just a little conspicuous). But when I saw them walk into the front yard of a partly demolished house near my school, I realised, of course, that they catch my tube and my bus, and get off at my stop, as they work as labourers.
We have never spoken, just the odd occasional stare (them) or averted glance (me). They are always very quiet and hardly talk to each other at the bus stop.They wear neutral clothes, offsetting their colourfully wrapped heads. They have laughed softly occasionally together. I often wonder how they ended up on a bus to Ilford in North East London, working on another person's house.
However, it always makes me feel better about getting up too early to catch a sequence of buses and trains to work when I know I have the three Sikhs following me. We are in it together, battling the surburban wilderness of North East London as a multi-coloured motley crew.
Once at the bus stop, we wait quietly for the bus, which usually arrived at 7.30am. They even get off at the same stop as me. Initially I thought this was because they were stalking me (although their brightly coloured headwear made them just a little conspicuous). But when I saw them walk into the front yard of a partly demolished house near my school, I realised, of course, that they catch my tube and my bus, and get off at my stop, as they work as labourers.
We have never spoken, just the odd occasional stare (them) or averted glance (me). They are always very quiet and hardly talk to each other at the bus stop.They wear neutral clothes, offsetting their colourfully wrapped heads. They have laughed softly occasionally together. I often wonder how they ended up on a bus to Ilford in North East London, working on another person's house.
However, it always makes me feel better about getting up too early to catch a sequence of buses and trains to work when I know I have the three Sikhs following me. We are in it together, battling the surburban wilderness of North East London as a multi-coloured motley crew.
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