The Ideal Home Show

I seem to have been hibernating rather, but the clocks have gone forward and Spring is just about here, so it's time to be up and about again.  And today I decided to take myself to the Ideal Home Show, one of my favourite events in the calendar.  I don't go every year these days - can't afford to - but I do love going when I can.

Because of the demise of Earl's Court, it's at Olympia this year; just one stop further on the Overground.  I think it's actually nearer public transport than Earl's Court was - it always felt like miles and miles from West Brompton into any of the shows there, whereas this was only a couple of steps.  I still am not used to asking for a concessionary ticket, but remembered to do so, and saved £5 on the normal entry.  I could - perhaps should - have booked my ticket on-line but there is a booking fee, and by the time you've paid that, you might as well pay on the door.  No queue, at 3:00 on a Monday afternoon, and security was minimal - they just glanced into my handbag.

I am not particularly bothered by the show homes or gardens, or by the swathes of furniture and home improvements (although I did go and look at the Insinkerator taps we've ordered for our new kitchen so we won't need a kettle).  I do, however, love the general shopping, fashion and beauty and homewares section, and the food section a bit less, but also a must-visit.  This year was all about bamboo pillows, at least two different brands.  I don't know what is so special about them - I felt one, and it just felt like an ordinary memory foam pillow to me.  My present pillow will soon need replacing, maybe next year I might buy one.  I did succumb to one or two bits and pieces, including some of my favourite-ever bronzer, and favourite-ever moisturiser, and I also bought a carpet (and other surface) cleaner as our bathroom carpet is Not What It Was.  But mostly I wandered around, enjoying the various demonstrations and slightly wishing we already had our new kitchen so I could legitimately indulge in new knives/saucepans/frying pans/a soup maker/other gadgets I don't need.... and thoroughly enjoyed myself.

I should have liked a cup of tea, but the café concessions dotted about the place were very expensive, and only used polystyrene cups, which I hate tea out of, so I didn't buy one. And came away, very tired but having had a lovely afternoon!

Best-laid plans....

It was going to be such a lovely weekend!  The Swan Whisperer's niece was getting married on Valentine's Day, and her father (one of the SW's three younger brothers) turned 60 on the Monday, so there was a massive family celebration all weekend.  Then we were going to visit the Titanic exhibition in Belfast before meeting a friend for lunch and our flight home on Tuesday afternoon.

It started so well.  We flew from London City, which we had not done before, and although the flight was very slightly late, we were able to pick up the hire car and drive to the b&b we had booked in Portrush.  The satnav took us slightly round the houses, but not unpleasantly so, and we arrived about 15 minutes before the SW's youngest brother whose wife, sadly, had felt too unwell to join us at the weekend.  Once he arrived, we went out for dinner - I'd done some research, and found a restaurant that sounded, and proved to be, very  nice.

Sadly, in the small hours of the morning what I'd thought to be merely digestive discomfort from having eaten rather too much turned into something rather more ominous, and I was in for a bout of the gastric flu that's going round.  There was to be no wedding for me - I was lying in bed wondering how to keep down a sip of water when the vows were being exchanged!  The SW went, of course, and there were plenty of pictures on Facebook, but so not the same.....

I was still in bed on Sunday, wondering whether I'd ever be able to eat anything again.  My daughter texted me to say her husband had now gone down with it and they'd had a nightmare journey home.  The SW spent the afternoon with his family, and they all seem to have had a pleasant, fairly quiet day.  But on Monday morning it was his turn to feel rotten, and although he took me to the party for his brother, he discovered the hard way that he had reached the stage of not being able to keep fluids down.... fortunately, once this had happened he felt a bit better, and was able to sit and watch the rest of us eat with equanimity.  I didn't eat more than a bite or two, but enjoyed seeing my in-laws and catching up with their news.

The people at the b&b were very kind and let him sleep in his youngest brother's still unmade-up room (youngest brother having moved on by then), and he felt much better in the morning.  As did I, although neither of us had much energy.  I enjoyed a boiled egg with my breakfast, but he stuck with toast.  We were told we didn't at all have to leave at 11:00, but to stay on as long as we liked.  We decided, though, that the Titanic would be pushing it, and we probably ought not to go into public more than we could help, anyway, so we decided to drive to the airport along the causeway coastal route, which is a scenic route, and absolutely beautiful.  We stopped in Cushendun and had a short walk exploring the minuscule harbour and wondering where a track that went under a cliff went to.  One could, if one had had keys to the gates, obviously drive through, although from and to where was unclear. 

Once you "turn the corner" around the north-east corner of the island, the Irish sea is a lot less rough than the Atlantic!  The road quite literally follows the seashore for miles, through little town after little town, mostly deserted in mid-February (I should not care to do this drive in mid-July!) down to Larne.  We didn't go into Larne, as you can never see anything at ports, they are always disappointing because of the security.  The SW said he'd never been to Carrickfergus, which is the next town on from Larne, so we went there (it was nothing very special, but quite pretty) and then it was straight past Belfast and up to the big Tesco near the airport to fill up with petrol before returning the hire car.

We had about an hour to wait for our flight home, rather annoyed at having to go home just as we felt better!  And I had bought a new dress specially for the wedding..... fortunately there is another family party in a few weeks, and I can wear it there.  But so not the weekend we'd planned!

Travelling to Stratford

I sometimes have occasion to visit Westfield Stratford City, and today was one of those days.  I was meeting the Daughter and Boy Too for coffee and lunch, and our annual visit to the sales - I needed a wedding garment, and was delighted to score one in Monsoon at half price; it would have been rude not to, really.

Anyway, I decided, just for fun, to catch a Javelin train to St Pancras to start me on my way home.  These go from Stratford International, as opposed to Stratford City, which is the main rail hub, and are not covered by my Freedom Pass, alas (but they do benefit from a Senior Railcard deduction). 

When I got to St Pancras, I decided to come home on the Thameslink to Loughborough Junction, as it's simply ages since I went that way, and then a 35 bus. 

That started me thinking of all the sensible ways I can go between home and Stratford.  I am not counting going on the northbound Overground from Clapham Common, as really, that isn't reasonable (it is fun, though), or any other completely ridiculous way.  But there are plenty of sensible ways.

The quickest, according to Citymapper, is to go from Clapham North to Bank on the Northern Line and then change to the Central Line.  I don't like that route, as it seems to have an inordinate number of steps, although I expect there are slightly less step-ridden ways.  I prefer to change at London Bridge on to the Jubilee line - today I found the step-free route to do that, which is a plus. 

One can also change at Bank on to the DLR, and then change again at Poplar (or at Canning Town, but that is two sides of a triangle).

Avoiding the Northern Line, one can go by bus - 35 or 133 - to Liverpool Street and then catch either the Central Line or a "proper train".  I've done that in my time.

You could go on the Victoria Line to Oxford Circus and then the Central Line.

Or you could go on the Victoria Line to Tottenham Hale and then a "proper train", which is a lovely route, but a bit two sides of a triangle.

Or you could go on the Victoria Line to King's Cross St Pancras, and then get a Javelin train (cost £5.00 or £3.50 with a Railcard). 

Or you could get a 59 bus to St Pancras, ditto.

Or the Thameslink from Loughborough Junction or Herne Hill, although as trains are only every half an hour to 20 minutes, you would need to time that one.  Also it needs a bus to the station.

Or you could get the Overground from Clapham High Street and change at Canada Water to the Jubilee Line.

It's amazing how many different ways of travelling to/from there are!  Yet to go to my daughter's, only a few miles from Stratford, the only realistic options are the Victoria Line, or, failing that, to go to Liverpool Street and get a Chingford Line train. 

Winter Break, Wednesday

We had - no, I had - a bit of a disappointment on Tuesday evening with our dinner.  Started with half a dozen snails - difficult to go wrong with those, and they were delicious.  But I had chosen paupiettes de volaille with langoustines to follow, and "bland" doesn't even begin to describe it.  Tasted of absolutely nothing, soaked in a floury pink sauce that also tasted of nothing.  The Swan Whisperer had ordered magret de canard sauce groseilles, which he said was delicious, and I wished I'd ordered that!  Then he'd ordered profiterolles, which I think I would have found too much, although they did look good.  I'd ordered the cheeseboard, which was Pont l'Eveque, Camembert and Livarot - just what we'd been watching made earlier in the day!  Which would have been gorgeous, but, alas, they had only just been taken out of the fridge.  So when nobody was looking, I wrapped them in my napkin and took them home to enjoy the following evening.

I think, on balance, that much as I love France, I prefer a country where it is light by 8:00 am, even if it is dark by 4:00 pm.  In France, because they are an hour ahead, but with almost no geographical displacement (Caen, where we were, is almost directly due south of Worthing), it stays light until about 5:00 pm, but of course it doesn't even begin to get light until about 09:00. 

We were hoping to get away by then, and it wasn't much later that we had packed our bags, loaded the car (airing it first, as it stunk of Livarot) and headed off.  As we had plenty of time, we decided to drive cross-country at first, visiting first of all Deauville/Trouville (which I always link with wealthy Brits in the 1930s flying themselves over and going to the casino or the races), and then to Honfleur, which we remembered as a very pretty little harbour, which it was. 

But then it was time for some serious motoring.  I finally worked out how to tell the Satnav to filter its Points of Interest, and to find us a supermarket near Abbeville, which is where we decided to do our shopping, and we set off, over the Pont de Normandie

and up the motorway to Abbeville, where the Satnav found us a Hyper-U and we did our shopping and had some lunch.  Although I had meant to buy some céléris rapés, and a couple of ready-meals for tonight, but forgot.  Got everything else we wanted, I think.  And then on to Calais, up a very empty motorway, and we decided to drive quickly round the town, rather disappointed that it wasn't dark enough to enjoy Calais' renowned Christmas lights (they make Oxford Street look distinctly dull), and then back to the Eurotunnel terminal.  The M20 made a stark contrast with the A28 - no danger of anybody feeling sleepy while driving on that.  We made it home just before 7:00 pm, and got unpacked and so on.   It was a good break, and I should have enjoyed prolonging it a couple of days, but being home and with my grandsons is good, too.

Winter break, Tuesday

A much better night's sleep, but I still have very little energy. We wanted to visit the Christmas markets this morning, and the SW was confident he had parked really near, but it seemed like miles. It was too near breakfast for gluehwein, alas, although they were selling it, and not all stalls were open. We had a potter round those that were, and bought one or two things. Then we went back down towards the car, but wanted to call in at the cathedral where William the Conqueror was buried, next to the town hall

so we found the entrance and went in. First thing we saw was the wonderful Christmas crib. The French do cribs so much better than we do. This one, correctly, had no Baby Jesus and no Wise Men as yet, but it was still lovely:

After looking round the Cathedral seeing the Conquerors tomb,

and, in my case, sitting quietly in front of the Blessed Sacrament for awhile, we came out and walked back to the car, passing the ruined church of St-Etienne, 

destroyed by British soldiers including, I have a horrible feeling, my father, who was certainly here or hereabouts in 1944

Then we drove up to and round the Castle, and up to the Memorial, but it was getting late and there was nowhere to park, so we came back to the hotel, bought fresh supplies in Monoprix, and had lunch. 

In the afternoon, we drove cross-country to Livarot, and found a factory that made the eponymous cheese, also Camembert and Pont L'Eveque. They didn't lay on a factory tour, as such, but you could wander round and there were films and information panels telling you about the dairy herds that produced the milk, mostly Normande  cattle, and then showing you how they made the various cheeses - and you could peep through windows to watch them being made, wrapped, etc. Fascinating and a great gift shop, including local court, so we stocked up. Then a wonderful drive to Falaise cross-country, through the village of Camembert (which also had a museum, but we didn't stop there as we were cheesed out (though not in any way cheesed off!))  

Falaise was lovely, although not much difference between its castle and the one in Caen that I could see.  And so back to Caen, and my insides are telling me it's supper time. 

Winter break, Monday

It is, I feel, just as well that I booked us a twin room, since we kept waking each other up by snoring, and I'm as glad we don't also wake each other up every time the other turns over! Mind you, I was waking myself up with my snoring....

But the hotel breakfast is pretty good. I'm a bit off coffee, but you can have fresh-squeezed orange juice - there is a clever machine that you feed whole oranges in one end and juice comes out the other. I have had at least two glasses both mornings so far.

So we were not out and about very early this morning, either! We had decided to go to Mont St Michel, about 116 km away.  The Satnav kept calling it Saint (pronounced the English way) Mitchell, which was rather irritating of it, but the computer voice does at least give road names and numbers so it is worth the irritation.

I hadn't been too sure what to expect, but it was incredibly impressive, both from a distance and close up. You have to park about a mile away, but there is a shuttle bus that takes you to within 500 metres of the village, with a very cold wind blowing in our faces.

 Once in the village, though, we were sheltered from the worst of the weather, and wandered round the do-the-tourist shops. I bought a pair of gloves, which I needed as I only had one glove with me, and later a slice of kouign amann to have as part of our lunch. When we got to the top of the street bit, the SW went on up the steps and I went back to the shuttle bus.

At which point, of course, the heavens opened and I got soaked to the skin! And frozen. At least the wind was behind me. So I sat on the bus, but the SW, who had not, after all, gone much further, joined me before it set off. He had been sheltered from the worst of the brief storm, and I was reminded of Augustus Toplady, who is said to have sheltered from just such a storm in the cleft of a rock, and then to have written that great hymn "Rock of ages, cleft for me".

After which pious thought, we decided to go on to St Malo, which is not very far away and was gorgeous. We told the Satnav to take us to the town centre, and I'm so glad we did, as this turned out to be in the old, walled city. We found a parking space, and then went in search of loos, but I decided a cup of tea would be welcome and we could use the facilities in the cafe, so we did, and it was! I finally dried and thawed out.  Then we wandered on, and found a place where we could look out over the beach.

We discovered, quite by chance, that we were almost back at the car - how did that happen? - and it was time to head back to the hotel, which we did, stopping for petrol and later for a leg-stretch. I then had time to potter round the shopping centre - not very exciting - and to buy some stuff for this sore throat, which seems to be helping.  

We ate in Hippopotamus, which was ok, I suppose. Not my favourite, but the SW likes it. And when we came back, there was an ancient Robin Hood film with Errol Flynn on, so we watched that, and now it's bedtime. 

Winter Break, Sunday

Unfortunately, although I seem to be successfully staving off a cold, a gang of little men appear to have been slashing at my throat with razor blades, which kept me awake half the night, although a cup of tea and an ibuprofen did help. But I felt like a wet dishrag, and after breakfast I went back to bed and slept most of the morning while the SW explored the town.  Lunch was a piece of fruitcake, after which we set off through the rain to Bayeux, to see the eponymous tapestry, which was marvellous. I'm so glad I've seen it in the flesh - I have seen pictures of it, of course, and my father has a book of it that he bought when he saw it a few years ago.  But the real thing has an impact unlike anything else.  There is a fascinating museum, too, not just about the tapestry, but also about the way life changed in Norman England after the Conquest. And a short film about the events it depicts. Brilliant. And worth the journey, quite definitely.

After this, we drove on up to Arromanches where the remains of the Mulbrrry harbour are all too plainly visible off-shore,

and then along the coast for a bit until it got too dark, whereupon we drove back to the hotel, and after a cup of tea, went out to a "Relais d'Alsace" restaurant, where we ate far too much choucroute, and I had a couple of scoops of sorbet and the SW had a chocolate thing, which I think has given him indigestion.  And an early night. I shall take an ibuprofen, and hope to sleep a bit better.