We went to Nicosia/Lefkosia today , walking through no-mans land past the spooky buildings with the silent reproach of bullet-holes
and visited
Selimye Mosque/St Sophia Cathedral and Buyuk Han
There was a beautiful rainbow while we were walking back, which I did photograph, a perfect arc spanning a blue sky above a ruined and abandoned building. The shot in my imagination would have been that same rainbow as a halo around one of the several rolls of razorwire
Friday 17 December 2010
Friday 10 December 2010
Donner und Blitzen, Cyprus Style
this is/was the list of things I remembered about the trip - I may never expand on them but my memory is triggered
Miscommunications: Paul was going to drive me to Gatwick, but he thought the flight was at 10pm rather than that I wanted to leave at 10am. As an example of my relationship with time, that one was quite spectacular. JL's very first school concert was the same day, at 10am, so the priorities were clear. I stepped into the L'Oreal zone and got a rather expensive taxi instead.
Mark was, of course, already there, eating breakfast at Joe's with a pint of Guinness to wash down his full english. He claims the only reason he doesn't do this at home is that there is no draught guinness in his kitchen. My own (non-alcoholic) breakfast was rather tasty.
We bought some duty-free Dewars and Mark sloped off with the bottle, his plastic funnel and the cokes we'd bought at WH Smiths to concoct a cheaper option than sleazyjet's slow trolley service. It took aaaaages! I wondered if some security camera had caught him messing with a funnel in the loo and taken him off for questioning about his terrorist activities but I think he probably had a couple to make room for the mixing.
I don't get a buzz from travelling any more, there is no frisson of excitement about the travelling and I blame my over-frequent business travel for that. Airports and stations are no longer places to automatically head for the bar, I just want to get on the damn plane, or train and get to where I'm going.
Some of that practice means I don't fret about getting to the gate 'early' either. If I'm travelling on business, I have a seat reservation, usually on the aisle, and my bag will go under the seat in front. If I'm on sleazyjet, there will be a seat somewhere on the plane, usually an aisle seat next to a couple travelling together, who stood like cattle for at least an hour longer than I did so they could sit together - and my bag will go under the sear in front.
What is no practised is knowing how long the hike is from the departure lounge to the (eventually) designated gate, in this case probably half a mile. Once we got on the plane, and found seats together(!) we were entertained by seeing the perfectly essex young woman with the pink suitcase who had been sent to the back of the queue when she tried to buck the (just wait, we won't meet your eye because the plane isn't ready yet) system at the gate get on the plane last, with her oversize pink princess pull-along, bleating that it was too heavy for her to lift up into the overhead locker and expecting first-class BA service on a cheapo line. Some idiot managed it all for her, then she got fussed about which seat she wanted. No one smacked her. Pity.
So, settling down to a long and boring trip, I indulged in bits of childish behaviour which means Mark will probably choose to sit on a different plane from me next time we travel, we hit a lovely little bounce over the Alps in the middle of a storm. Lots of bumpy turbulence, VERY bumpy turbulence, enough to generate a bit of very noticeable weightlessness, WHEEEE!
Mark wet himself . Well OK, it wsa more the wearing of the (red) wine which slopped all over his lap while the plane was jinking about. The very camp steward noticed (what was he doing gazing at Mark's crotch?) and appeared with a wodge of paper towels and a look of terrible dilemna on his face as he wrestled with the temptation to dab away himself or to let Mark do it himself. There was a definite spark between him and the steward, one of the fat blue static kind; at least that's the only one I saw.
The chap sat next to us looked very much like the Czech boss I used to have and listened avidly to our conversation (particularly my childish idiocies about are we there yet, elbow fights over the armrest, whiny voice and soi-disant witty comments). He didn't so much join our conversation as comment on it, which seemed a bit weird.
As a follow-up to the alpine drop, we got to Cyprus larnaca airspace at the same time as three humungous thunderstorms. Seatbelt signs on, barked messages to the crew from the pilot, including a strained-sounding "cabin crew to your seats NOW" and the pilot told us we couldn't land but would be playing tag with the storms until we either found a clear bit to land between them or started to run out of fuel and would have to land at Paphos, about eighty miles away.
It was WONDEREFUL! While we dodged about in the sky above and between the storms, we saw towering lightning, flashes about a mile long between pillars of cloud lit in stark majesty that would challenge any special effects film. I wasn't looking forward to having our journey extended by a detour to Paphos and wondered idly what would happen if the storms were there too. Just how much fuel DID the plane have?
Eventually, the pilot saw a gap and took us through a corridor of teeth-gritting superbumps to land to a storm of more than token applause from the passengers. I think he deserved some kind of medal for that trip.
The rain was absolutely torrential, we chatted for a while with an old couple who told us all about their place in the north, their friends, their garden, chapters from their life stories and then, when their car turned up to collect them, blanked us so completely they didn't even say goodbye.
We arrived at Maria's, I unloaded the two or three kilos of chocolate I'd brought, and we got stuck into a much apreciated chilli Christina had cooked for us. Settling down to a couple of drinks and catch-up, listening to the rain, we wandered outside for a cigarette which was fortuituous since Maria spotted the unexpected swimming pool on the terrace. The living room has a huge expanse of full-length windows with about an inch of frame at the bottom, and almost an inch of water on the terrace. Mops and brushes were weilded and the drainage holes unblocked to let the water flood down the drainpipes instead of over the living room floor.
I did my own pugwash impression an hour or so later, trousers rolled to half-mast and getting soaked by warm rain and giggling a lot.,
Saturday
The HAT!!!! And the Ronnie Barker Sugar and Spice
Blue Pine
• Mammoth chop
• Red red wine
• Sidney – second wind – etc
• JD hair
Sunday
Scirocco –
• Cashmere
• clothessssssssssssssss
Miscommunications: Paul was going to drive me to Gatwick, but he thought the flight was at 10pm rather than that I wanted to leave at 10am. As an example of my relationship with time, that one was quite spectacular. JL's very first school concert was the same day, at 10am, so the priorities were clear. I stepped into the L'Oreal zone and got a rather expensive taxi instead.
Mark was, of course, already there, eating breakfast at Joe's with a pint of Guinness to wash down his full english. He claims the only reason he doesn't do this at home is that there is no draught guinness in his kitchen. My own (non-alcoholic) breakfast was rather tasty.
We bought some duty-free Dewars and Mark sloped off with the bottle, his plastic funnel and the cokes we'd bought at WH Smiths to concoct a cheaper option than sleazyjet's slow trolley service. It took aaaaages! I wondered if some security camera had caught him messing with a funnel in the loo and taken him off for questioning about his terrorist activities but I think he probably had a couple to make room for the mixing.
I don't get a buzz from travelling any more, there is no frisson of excitement about the travelling and I blame my over-frequent business travel for that. Airports and stations are no longer places to automatically head for the bar, I just want to get on the damn plane, or train and get to where I'm going.
Some of that practice means I don't fret about getting to the gate 'early' either. If I'm travelling on business, I have a seat reservation, usually on the aisle, and my bag will go under the seat in front. If I'm on sleazyjet, there will be a seat somewhere on the plane, usually an aisle seat next to a couple travelling together, who stood like cattle for at least an hour longer than I did so they could sit together - and my bag will go under the sear in front.
What is no practised is knowing how long the hike is from the departure lounge to the (eventually) designated gate, in this case probably half a mile. Once we got on the plane, and found seats together(!) we were entertained by seeing the perfectly essex young woman with the pink suitcase who had been sent to the back of the queue when she tried to buck the (just wait, we won't meet your eye because the plane isn't ready yet) system at the gate get on the plane last, with her oversize pink princess pull-along, bleating that it was too heavy for her to lift up into the overhead locker and expecting first-class BA service on a cheapo line. Some idiot managed it all for her, then she got fussed about which seat she wanted. No one smacked her. Pity.
So, settling down to a long and boring trip, I indulged in bits of childish behaviour which means Mark will probably choose to sit on a different plane from me next time we travel, we hit a lovely little bounce over the Alps in the middle of a storm. Lots of bumpy turbulence, VERY bumpy turbulence, enough to generate a bit of very noticeable weightlessness, WHEEEE!
Mark wet himself . Well OK, it wsa more the wearing of the (red) wine which slopped all over his lap while the plane was jinking about. The very camp steward noticed (what was he doing gazing at Mark's crotch?) and appeared with a wodge of paper towels and a look of terrible dilemna on his face as he wrestled with the temptation to dab away himself or to let Mark do it himself. There was a definite spark between him and the steward, one of the fat blue static kind; at least that's the only one I saw.
The chap sat next to us looked very much like the Czech boss I used to have and listened avidly to our conversation (particularly my childish idiocies about are we there yet, elbow fights over the armrest, whiny voice and soi-disant witty comments). He didn't so much join our conversation as comment on it, which seemed a bit weird.
As a follow-up to the alpine drop, we got to Cyprus larnaca airspace at the same time as three humungous thunderstorms. Seatbelt signs on, barked messages to the crew from the pilot, including a strained-sounding "cabin crew to your seats NOW" and the pilot told us we couldn't land but would be playing tag with the storms until we either found a clear bit to land between them or started to run out of fuel and would have to land at Paphos, about eighty miles away.
It was WONDEREFUL! While we dodged about in the sky above and between the storms, we saw towering lightning, flashes about a mile long between pillars of cloud lit in stark majesty that would challenge any special effects film. I wasn't looking forward to having our journey extended by a detour to Paphos and wondered idly what would happen if the storms were there too. Just how much fuel DID the plane have?
Eventually, the pilot saw a gap and took us through a corridor of teeth-gritting superbumps to land to a storm of more than token applause from the passengers. I think he deserved some kind of medal for that trip.
The rain was absolutely torrential, we chatted for a while with an old couple who told us all about their place in the north, their friends, their garden, chapters from their life stories and then, when their car turned up to collect them, blanked us so completely they didn't even say goodbye.
We arrived at Maria's, I unloaded the two or three kilos of chocolate I'd brought, and we got stuck into a much apreciated chilli Christina had cooked for us. Settling down to a couple of drinks and catch-up, listening to the rain, we wandered outside for a cigarette which was fortuituous since Maria spotted the unexpected swimming pool on the terrace. The living room has a huge expanse of full-length windows with about an inch of frame at the bottom, and almost an inch of water on the terrace. Mops and brushes were weilded and the drainage holes unblocked to let the water flood down the drainpipes instead of over the living room floor.
I did my own pugwash impression an hour or so later, trousers rolled to half-mast and getting soaked by warm rain and giggling a lot.,
Saturday
The HAT!!!! And the Ronnie Barker Sugar and Spice
Blue Pine
• Mammoth chop
• Red red wine
• Sidney – second wind – etc
• JD hair
Sunday
Scirocco –
• Cashmere
• clothessssssssssssssss
Sunday 5 December 2010
Lazy Sunday
I didn't realise how much I needed to be cheered up until I spoke to da man on the phone earlier today, and later read an email from a friend I haven't been in contact with for a while. Now I am cheered.
On the ffs side; getting myself another drink and chucking the obligatory five ice-cubes into the huge crystal wine glass con brio , I heard a crystal chingggg and thought an ice cube had missed the glass. Then the scotch I poured into the glass poured out over the kitchen counter through the hole made by the ice cubes. Hilarious. Now I am using the last of the four latest lovely glasses. It really does taste different, trust me! With luck, Cargo still sell them and this last one will last until I get to the shop for reinforcements.
On the happy news side of things, I found the single missing piece of glass without using my naked foot. I really need to stop adding con brio, it plays mayhem with my collection of crystal glasses.
Then, just to make life more interesting, I checked how many players were left in the software poker tournament and discovered there were only nine of eighty left ~ and closed the window by mistake. pfffffffffffffft!!!!!!!!!!!!
On the ffs side; getting myself another drink and chucking the obligatory five ice-cubes into the huge crystal wine glass con brio , I heard a crystal chingggg and thought an ice cube had missed the glass. Then the scotch I poured into the glass poured out over the kitchen counter through the hole made by the ice cubes. Hilarious. Now I am using the last of the four latest lovely glasses. It really does taste different, trust me! With luck, Cargo still sell them and this last one will last until I get to the shop for reinforcements.
On the happy news side of things, I found the single missing piece of glass without using my naked foot. I really need to stop adding con brio, it plays mayhem with my collection of crystal glasses.
Then, just to make life more interesting, I checked how many players were left in the software poker tournament and discovered there were only nine of eighty left ~ and closed the window by mistake. pfffffffffffffft!!!!!!!!!!!!
Saturday 4 December 2010
Missed
another red devil - by £50
maybe Santa will bring me one, I've been very good!
I'm just tormenting myself; I decided how much I wanted to pay, and was outbid. Obviously wasn't meant to be
But I did get the hat to match the new coat and ordered the gloves to match them
Going off to the hundred pound shop now ....
I'm just tormenting myself; I decided how much I wanted to pay, and was outbid. Obviously wasn't meant to be
But I did get the hat to match the new coat and ordered the gloves to match them
Going off to the hundred pound shop now ....
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