Diamonds Are Forever

Normal Summer service has resumed. After our spell of balmy & luciously warm and sunny weather, I have had to yet again dig out my winter clothes...This, naturally, was just in time for celebrations on a National scale.

The Queen of England, in case you missed it, gave us subjects a couple of extra days off to party, eat copious amounts of food and stick Union Jacks on anything & everything while demonstrating her capacity to be amazing for the last 60 years.

There were street parties (many of which had to be unfortunately moved indoors), 1000 boats on the Thames, a concert outside Buckingham Palace and various processions, formal events, flypasts and lots of British pride flitting about the place...which is something, apart from a limited time during football competitions, that doesn't happen over here very often.

Anyhoo, a collection of festive pictures & my favourite bits

The Flotilla was impressive, though I felt sorry for those who were stuck there in the pouring rain

The selection of boats used at Dunkirk

The performance from The War Horse was perfect

 The thrones remained empty as the Royal family stood for the whole thing. It amused me greatly when William & Harry pointed at their Grandfather and laughed as he danced a jig to the Hornpipe at the end.

You couldn't go anywhere without seeing the Union Jack, we don't celebrate our British pride enough so it was a nice change

The fireworks after the concert at the Palace, Madness singing Our House on the Palace roof was epic (as was Grace Jones and her Hula Hoop)

The Parade, Pomp & ceremony is what we do best

The Red Arrows, always a highlight

My absolute favourite was this guy, whom I spotted in the crowd...can you see him?

How about now.....You Sir are an absolute legend!

Our decorations for the occasion

 And the food, of course

 Scones, shortbread and patriotic cupcakes...nom, nom, nom

Emma just can't wait

Post Haste

It has been a while since I updated cyberspace with my thoughts & observations, mainly since I've had very few of either.  That and the fact that yet again the powers that be decided to quite literally rain on my parade...continuously...for the past 2 months. 

It's been dreadful, the skies depressingly grey whilst we had every kind of rain imaginable...sideways, misty, huge giant drops, cascading torrents... even that type Forrest Gump mentioned which appeared to come up from the ground...It's been hideous, and in some kind of Bizarro World way, even though we've had a years worth of the wet stuff in the last couple of months, we are in drought complete with hosepipe bans and various restrictions...this while water has been happily flash flooding down the streets and into the drains?!?

So, no fun times have been had really as I grasped on to the meager hope that eventually summer would kick in.  Which it finally has. 27 degrees yesterday, hotter even today and hopefully continuing into the weekend when I and my trusty photographic device will be able to venture into the great British countryside for rambling type adventures.

We must after all make the  most of such  sunny occasions, as Wimbledon & the Olympics will kick in soon and it's fair to say that outdoor sporting activities and British weather have a damp squib relationship at best!

Battleship Fail

Now I realise these competition thingys the newspapers occasionally roll out have a very low actually winning threshold, but I like to have a punt filling out the cards anyway, just in case.  This weeks Battleship inspired comp seems to be actively laughing at my meager scrap of hope:

Exhibit A - May I draw your attention to the How To Play section:

Exhibit B - My card :

Um, Houston, we have a problem.

Don't Panic! Okay, Panic!

In no way is this a political Blog, that being said.....

Magnificent March

I turned my back for a second and all of a sudden it's skipped Spring and moved straight onto Summer.  Not that I'm complaining, I heart Summer completely...who cares if we have to get our water from a standpipe for the rest of the year because all reservoirs have dried up, as long as I can keep my Vitamin D at an excessively high level.

Apparently it's topping 21 degrees C over the next few days, go ahead and mock those who live in warmer climates, but here...in March....it should be dull, wet and barely breaking double figures.  Today I spent many hours in the garden putting a severe dent in my latest Clive Cussler adventure whilst eating a ham/egg salad in shorts and t-shirt and in danger of breaking an actual sweat.

Yesterday the weather was equally as lush and I took myself off to Arundel.  A stupendous place to waste several hours with its meandering river, lake and rustic village, all in the shadow of an 11th Century castle.  Blissfully peaceful and contented I was...until the army of grandmothers with screaming sprogs in tow arrived with several kilos of bread in an attempt to severely damage the health of the league of ducks who called Swanbourne lake home.

My view yesterday lunch time

 A slightly hazy affair by the lake (the ducks making a beeline for the grannies gluten filled products)

So I vacated to seek out ice cream and wandered a spell along the river.  I observed some kind of  macho ritual between a group of students which appeared to involved chucking pebbles into the river to scare of any wildlife which had the misfortune to be lurking.  They needn't have worried however, Freddie Flintoff none of them were, launching rocks less than 5 feet into the water, at a 90 degree angle into a tree and quite magnificently into a bush placed 10 metres to the rear.

Ahh, those row boats, many a happy day spent on the lake

Starting to turn a little Stephen King down by the lake...time for ice cream

 

The sun was beginning to lose its heat as the day wore on, reminding everyone that it is indeed but March, and so I retreated to the train station, homeward bound.  Imagine my delight when I discovered all trains had been cancelled due to an earlier breakdown on the tracks and the replacement bus service was caught in traffic indefinitely (this I would like to point out is not an irregular occurrence for Southern Trains who test the patience of travelers on a regular basis).  My normal reaction would be to call on the services of taxi dad, but for the fact that the area surrounding Arundel is experiencing serious roadworks causing traffic chaos, hence why I took to the train in the first place.  So plan B was actioned, with trusty map in hand I decided to walk to the nearest place I could cadge a lift from, the village of Ford...3 miles away.

I eventually made it home and it wasn't all bad since the view from the river as I walked to Ford was pretty impressive and I pretty much burnt off the earlier consumed ice cream...so win/win.

If Love is the Answer, Could You Rephrase the Question

My feelings on this, most vomit inducing of days, have been mentioned in previous years so I will just add this:

Lets Get Physical

News Flash...Exercise is good for you...apparently.  I tend to disagree, usually soon after I have slogged my way through a 2 hour session at the gym.  I feel neither healthy nor particularly fit looking, as the sweat runs down my face and back, plastering my fringe to my face with a constant need to sort out a wedgie and pulling some super unattractive faces as I try to keep up with my routine.  The girl next to me is running faster, puffing far less, glowing instead of sweating and doesn't have a hair out of place.  More than once I have imagined her tripping on a shoelace and being flung halfway across the gym, does that make me an evil person?

I push on like the trooper that I am though, as I'm aware of the many benefits and, in my particular case, keeping me borderline sane for a few times a week from a chemical high (though I've heard a similar thing can be achieved from gratuitous consumption of chocolate, something I'm not objecting too per-se, but am not keen on the other side affects of this)

I have seen a change since I started this form of torture...dropped two dress sizes, lost over 2 and a half stone, can once again sit on my haunches when kneeling (a skill not to be sniffed at and is alas neglected to be appreciated after the age of 10) much better balance, calves that have a shape which much less resemble a tree trunk and am regularly amused by my fellow patrons some of which seem to think they are on display at Venice Beach rather than Bognor Regis....still waiting for someone to be slung across the room from being overly ambitious on the running machine, which is most disappointing as according to You've Been Framed it is an extremely regular occurance.

I do struggle though, it's tough to continue to at pace when you're inner moppet is desperately encouraging you to belt out tunes from Glee as they come on my iPod and then there's the tunes which are a regular staple at conventions...do I diligently carry on with the cross trainer or be the only person in the gym cracking on with a flawless Swamp Thing routine? it's a conundrum.

Today I nearly incurred a nasty injury on the Pectoral machine, there I was halfway through my reps, desperately trying to not to pull too many strange faces, when a chap started doing weights opposite me.  Not an uncommon occurrence, except for the fact that this chap was the spitting image of actor/stuntman and convention favourite Dan Payne.  I was puzzling over his uncanny resemblance when the fella started doing some stretches, lunges and lots of.....bending, during one very flexible maneuver I nearly popped my shoulder!

For those not in the know, this is Dan Payne doing what he does best:

Ack, well at least there's one more reason to keep up with this gym gumpf...I'm still waiting for my six pack to come through, it's currently more of a large one pack, my buns are yet to feel like anything remotely like steel and I'm pretty sure one day I will expire on the rowing machine, though if that happens mayhap 'looks like Dan Payne' will be able to assist ;-)

Eyes Hurt, Skin Hurts, Tongue to Big for Mouth

The moment I realised I was about to come down with some kind of plague wasn't when my sister-in-law lost her voice over Christmas, it wasn't when father became more woolly minded than usual around two weeks later, it wasn't even when mother virtually hacked up and lung whilst we were catching up with the exploits of Sherlock...no, the moment I realised my future was the joys of every piece of food tasting like cardboard, a continuous swarm of mosquitoes in my head, both shivering and sweating at the same time and the mucus...for the love of God, the mucus...yes that moment was when the various folk sharing the same carriage as I last week seemed intent on superfluously spreading every infected molecule across the train in a world where obviously the humble tissue had never been invented.  Why use such devices when you can sneeze spittle half the length of the carriage, cough phlegm onto the back of the seat in front or even wipe mucus onto seat coverings...obviously more absorbent than a man size Kleenex...and then touch the 'open door' button the stop before mine.  And so I shall wrap myself in my duvet as my nose turns a lovely shade of raw red and my lungs test whether a cough or sneeze works as well as regular breathing techniques....And I may or may not watch my entire collection of Harry Potter films in a hallucinogenic haze.

S**t my dad does

For many years now I have known that my dad is different from other dads.  At around 10 years old I came to the conclusion that I had reached the point in time which I had matured beyond the realms that my father ever would.  It doesn't make him a bad guy, it's just that at times we as a family have to cringe when out in public with the chap.

This week was no exception.  We visited the cineplex to finally catch some of those movies which have been floating around, but which we had been avoiding over the Christmas period due to the high percentage of kids who throw popcorn anywhere but in their mouths which are constantly in use though out the film, which is apparently so complex to their brains a exposition track should be included as standard (the 12a certification is an abomination which should be disposed of immediately).  Sherlock Holmes was the choice and was pleasing in concept, tone, action and witty dialogue (only outdone by Sherlock presently on the beeb). 

We left the cinema having our post movie chatter as we walked back to the car, a couple a few yards in front of our little group.  As we approached the car the chap in front pressed the button to unlock his car and, in a show of perfectly timed Jedi hi-jinx, the lights of our own car flashed as it unlocked right next to the fella.  The chap did one of those highly comical Acme double-takes and for a full 30 seconds thought he had somehow unlocked our car with his key fob.  He was subsequently laughed out of the car park.  Dad maintained the look of a chap very pleased with himself for the next 8-12 hours, every so often chuckling to himself in a Dr. Evil kind of manner...I nearly sprained my eyes due to constant rollage.

How to Blow Off the Gym With Style

Have I mentioned recently the exceptionally sunny sunshine we've been having during the last month.  Largely I can become very stationary when the weather follows the usual pattern of general dull and suckyness and apart from the gym there has been little to get my juices going and my arse off the comfort of my bed. 

So I decided to make the most of the fashionable early summer.  Never one with much inclination to get involved with the chores of the garden I have actually had fun helping out the parentals.  Digging out bushes with massive routes, digging and leveling soil, trimming shrubs and painting the wood framed greenhouse and trellis (nearly without getting any on me clothes, hands, glasses and the street sign I was using to lean the trellis against)

I cleaned up my bike, which has spent the last year living in the garage, and went out over the busy Easter weekend to have a gander at a car boot sale a few miles away.  It was largely old tat but I did savour the fact that on my return journey I passed a queue of traffic several miles long (all attempting to get away for the weekend) while I happily chuffed on by on my bicycle....suckers!

And of course what would a spell on fabulous weather be without some kind of jaunt into the luscious South Down countryside.

Cocking Down is one of the easiest parts of the South Downs to get to on my own, I just have to go all round the houses on a bus for an hour and 20 mins.  It is however very worth it

Traditions upheld, this kind of fencing has been used on the Downs for decades

You can tell it's still early in the season as the trees in the distance have yet to find their leaves

Aww, ickle cattle

And this is where I stopped for lunch, the Trig marker useful for checking I'm not lost (yet)

Since the South Downs have become a National Park there has been quite a bit of work down, clearing areas surrounding the ancient tumuli and maintaining paths

The protected Graffham Down

 And I guess a less protected...er...whatever this once was (sheep?) the skull left in the middle of the track in a not at all creepy fashion

This is actually looking back upon the hill I just descended and climbing back up the other side (one of 3 hills in this walk)

I had to keep reminding myself in the 27 degree heat that it was in fact still Spring, the trees are still sporting the fresh greens of the time of year.

Keeping an eye out for Hobbits and other such fantastical creatures....

What an epically fantastic place for a rope swing

And finally after 7.5 miles I reach Selhurst Park and this is the view from the much appreciated bench while I waited for my lift home.

Just visible on the top of the hill, Halnaker Windmill

And this stuff will be recognized by any hay-fever suffers out there, Mustard seed looks fantastic in the fields but by-crikey it pen and inks

So there you have Cocking Down to Selhurst Park on the South Downs Way, looking fabulous in the sunshine if I do say so myself....easy to see why I'd rather be up here than down on the beach with only chavs for company.