Weston-super-Bock!

I could quite easily live in the Algarve. The people are so laid back and friendly, the beaches are beautiful and unspoilt and it is so cheap to live here. For example, a three course meal with ½ litre of wine or a pint of beer followed by coffee and a glass of port is 7.50€ in one of the restaurants up the road from where we are currently staying. In the bar next door a pin of Super Bock is 1.50€ and a large glass of wine 1.00€.

This time we are in the small town of Olhos d'Agua (Water Eyes), so called for the fresh water springs visible on the beach at low tide. It is situated midway between Albufeira and Vilamoura about 18 miles west of Faro.

The weather for the first 10 days was hot and sunny but the last 3 days have been a mixture of sunshine, showers and heavy rain.

Yesterday we waited for the rain to ease before leaving the apartment at around 2pm to go for lunch. We had just got inside a cafe, not 10 minutes walk away, when the wind got up and the heavens opened. Our lunch came and there was a power cut. By the time we left to return, some 20 minutes later, the sun was shining.

On the road just down from the apartment there is a bridge over a deep gully. No more than 10 minutes after we crossed it, on our way out, a mini tornado had blown through the gully uprooting trees, blowing the gates off and damaging the roof of a beautiful villa and decimating several gardens before blowing itself out before reaching the town.

If we had been walking over that bridge at the time ....................................

Well it's back home tomorrow then down to Lesley on Saturday to open up the caravan for a new season. Hopefully we will have better weather this year and the whole family will be able to enjoy the new and improved beach, which 17 million pounds later, is now complete.

Sadly my favourite fishing spot has completely disappeared in the remodelling of the coastline but there is a nice protected lagoon that I can't wait to "sling my hook" into!

Here's a brilliant video of the 12 months work compressed into 5 minutes, (look out for Janice and me in the anoraks at about 2 min 53sec):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_uvTV7izExs&feature=player_embedded#!

Since my last entry we finally made it to Weston-super-Mud and spent a great few days in the Wetherspoons Hotel on the seafront. Unfortunately, as you can see, the diets have gone out of the window:

I leave you with Weston-super-Mud and "The Cafe" filmed on the promenade last year:

Update from Lesley next week!

Hey Ho!

In memory of ...................

The warmer weather of the last few days has tempted me "up the plot" for sustained periods of fruit tree pruning and general tidying up. I've even planted a few flower bulbs to brighten up the borders.

We're off to Portugal for two weeks on Thursday so I am trying to get ahead of the game.

On Friday of last week I met up with JohnG and the Welsh Bard for our quarterly quest to map out all the pubs of Oxford and two new venues were ticked off our list.

Oxford really is a lovely city and so far we haven't entered a public house that we wouldn't be happy with staying in for the duration.

Here we are enjoying lunch in the Kings arms on a previous meeting:

To celebrate our fourth visit I decided to put pen to paper:

Beneath the clock at Oxford station,

the meeting place again.

Three OAPs, still young at heart

arriving on the train.

From South and East and West they came

with stories to be told,

of funerals and ailments

and memories to unfold.

A  Welshman and a Suffolk boy

and making up the trinity,

a  Northerner, an Eccles lad,

paradigms of masculinity.

Oxford's streets are paved with pubs

and they are on a mission,

to have a pint in every one

on their quarterly expedition.

They've done The Grapes and The White Horse,

The Kings Arms and The Bear,

Eagle and Child, The Rose and Crown.

Have they been everywhere?

This time they started at The Grapes

but new pubs they had vowed.

The Lamb and Flag received them well

and the Royal Oak did 'em proud.

With time to spare they crossed the road

into the Eagle and Child,

to finish off a perfect day

the boys were going wild!

At three o'clock, their bellies full,

and smiles upon their faces,

they say goodbye and board their trains

back to their diverse bases.

In three months time, The Likely Lads

will meet again, don't fear.

With ailments new and stories too

and of a course a pint of beer!

or two, or three or four or more!

February has seen the passing of two greats in diverse fields of entertainment.

Two days ago the brilliant Richard Biers passed away. Although "The Good Life" only ran for a comparatively short time, it is a sitcom that everyone of our generation can relate to.

Earlier in the month the legendary Reg Presley of the Troggs and one of Hampshires genuine characters passed on:

The Troggs shot to fame with "Wild Thing" a song that was later covered by Jimi Hendrix, Bruce Springstein, the Muppets and many more.

What a star!!

Thanks for the lift!

Our trip to Weston-Super-Mud seems destined not to happen. I postponed this weekend's re-arranged trip on Thursday because of the approaching snowy weather and by the looks of the South West today it was a good thing that I did.

So I am sitting here looking out of the window at the freezing, snow covered garden wondering what adventures this Saturday will bring the Werewolf.

Well it won't be a football match that's for certain.

Boro's home game to Bath was called off yesterday afternoon and the only game on the TV at lunch time is St. Mirren v Ross County!!

The decorating is finished (although there are worrying rumblings about the state of our bedroom) and a visit to the allotment would be totally pointless in these conditions - at least this year I did have the foresight to remove the netting from my fruit cage earlier in the week.

So it looks like another afternoon of intellectual, stimulating and thought provoking conversation down at the Fox.

Hopefully it will finish up better than last Saturday afternoons debacle.

Originally we were going to Weston-Super-Mud last weekend so I turned down the chance of a ticket to the Cardiff v Ipswich match with the Welsh Bard and his brother-in-law.

I then had to postpone the trip because Janice hadn't finished decorating so as it turned out I could have gone but it was too late to get a ticket.

Instead, I decided to go to watch Boro at home to Dover. It was freezing cold and starting to sleet when I left and I called in the Fox for the customary one on the way to the ground.

The public bar was so warm and welcoming with the second half of the QPR v Spurs game on the box. I had a second pint, then a third and before I knew it was 3.15pm. The bar was getting lively - just one of those occasions where everyone was up for good drink and plenty of 50's and 60's music on the jukebox.

Bonnie, the land-ladies daughter, who was on bar duty and incidentally who I know from her school days with Karen, couldn't believe her eyes at the sight of the over sixties singing, falling over and generally having a good time.

Cooperman, a good friend of mine, called in on his way back from work and joined in the fun and selected a batch of Bobby Darin and Doris Day records. I have a nasty recollection that at one point photos were taken of the two of us performing a lively little duet to "The Deadwood Stage"!

At 6 (ish, I think) I prepared to wobble home in the cold and sleet but Cooperman, who had his truck outside, kindly offered me a lift home.

Janice was in the kitchen when I fell indoors, so I quickly de-togged and got comfortable in front of the tellie for a lazy night.

I was awoken almost immediately by "Where's the shopping?"

"Shit, shit, shit!", I was supposed to call in the Coop on the way home.

"Sorry dear, it was so cold and wet that Danny gave me a lift home", I offered as some sort of pathetic explanation.

"Well you just better get yourself back down to the Coop then!" was the icy reply.

Realising it was my only chance of getting anything to eat I re-togged and made my wobbly way back to the Coop in the icy sleet, shopped, queued up with all the lottery hopefuls and when I finally got to the till - "Shit, shit, shit!" - I hadn't got my wallet!

I wobbled back home, in the now driving sleet, collected my wallet and wobbled back once more to the Coop, re-queued behind even more last minute lottery hopefuls, collected my shopping and paid.

Eventually, 45 minutes after first arriving home, now very cold and wet, I returned to the comfort of my sofa and sent a text to Cooperman, "Thanks for the lift!!".

What I don't understand is how women can be so unsympathetic.

And to top of it all, Boro were 5-0 at half time going on to win 5-2!!!!

The best thing that could happen this afternoon is that I get snowed in the Fox!

Well, I'm off to do the shopping, BEFORE, I go down the pub!!

I leave you with a video of a typical Saturday afternoon down the Fox public bar:


Hey Ho!

Beyond the sea

We were thinking of going away to Paphos for 3 weeks in January but Janice has at last got wise to my decorating and house maintenance avoidance tactics and decided to start giving the house a facelift instead.

Worse still she has also imposed a calorie controlled diet regime!

Rather than having to prepare and cook my own meals and, somewhat inspired by the Hairy Dieters TV programs, I have been forced to join in and show that I am shedding the pounds.

If you didn't watch the programs there's a book:



In case you are interested I have added a link to the recipes from the series at the end of this blog entry.

As you are all aware by now,I didn't get where I am today without a game plan so I have formulated a cunning four point fall back strategy:

Plan A - Low Calorie Nosh but normal liquid intake.

Plan B - Low Calorie Nosh but 50% reduced liquid intake.

Plan C - Low Calorie Nosh but 75% reduced liquid intake.

Plan D - Suicide!

Day one also saw the house facelift starting in earnest with a completely fruitless 3 hours of wandering around B&Qs trying to satisfy madams shopping list only to find either most items out of stock or failure to get two party agreement on choice. Returning home, totally stressed and starving hungry, I was presented with a bowl of clear green vegetable liquid and a Ryvita!

On day three I started a "Guess the Weight" spreadsheet which revealed I had lost 3¼ lbs, so come early doors, flushed with this success and a new found enthusiasm to "do better", (something that apparently I could have done a lot more of in most subjects over 50 years ago, according to my school reports), I jogged to the Fox.

Well I call it  jog very loosely - it was more like a geriatric shuffle and is not to be recommended for the slightly overweight, very unfit over 65's.!

On arriving at the door to the public bar I found that my legs had given up the ghost. I fell through the door and had to be propped up onto a stool in the corner of the bar where I remained, attempting to regain my breath, for a full 10 minutes before recovering sufficiently enough to thank the land lady for presenting me with a pint, pay her and take the first delicious mouthfull!

Needless to say I walked (wobbled) home.

The Welsh Bard offered this encouragement:

They’ve had enough of Baltzer! Their paths have reached a fork:
He’s started using silly words like ‘diet’.
Now, when it comes to fitness, he’s hardly one to talk,
And, at the Fox, there’s danger of a riot!
Yes, Chris has started jogging, when he can barely walk,
And they don’t believe that Janice is watching like a hawk,
So fans have reached consensus, from Yately up to York,
Requesting that, in future, he keeps quiet!

They don’t want Baltzer slimmer – he’s scarcely gone to seed
(Apart from seed potatoes...), but all this talk of jogging,
And other crazy concepts are not what people need –
It’s time to stop the blasphemies he’s flogging.
As all of them are devotees of indolence and greed,
His fans may be in danger of taking what they read
As gospel, so they think it’s time that Chris should take the lead,
To concentrate on loopy lunar blogging!

It's now day 6 and I've just weighed in at 13st 5lb, making it 5 lbs I have managed to lose so far.

Only 19 more lbs to go!

It's going to be a long six weeks before we go to Portugal again!

Tomorrow we are off to Weston-Super-Mud for a long week-end, a place that we have wanted to visit since watching "The Cafe" comedy series on Sky One last year:

Let's hope Cyril's Cafe is open.

I was a great fan of Bobby Darin in the 60's and the song "Beyond the Sea" is used as the theme song for "The Cafe" series, sung delightfully by Kathryn Williams.

Here's another version by Jeff Lynne, the final track from his new CD "Long Wave":

Pop music at it's best (IMHO)! He's singing and playing every instrument on this CD except the strings.

Hey Ho!

LINK TO HAIRY DIETERS RECIPES:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/search?programmes[]=p00vq8c6

Once more unto the Plot, dear friends, once more.........

On New Year's day, spurred on by the blue skies and sunshine, and full of New Year's resolution your intrepid allotmenteer ventured forth once more unto the plot to do battle with the out of control cultivated blackberry plants that were threatening to crowd out my raspberry canes and take over my soft fruit bed.

As usual, as soon as I arrived, I discovered there were many other maintenance jobs that needed doing, so morning visits have been scheduled for every day this and next week while the weather remains dry.

I have to count myself lucky that I can actually do anything as my plot is on a slightly raised corner of the site unlike several other plots that are completely underwater.

Despite the awful Spring and Summer weather resulting in a poor return from the normal banker crop, the potato, and the constant attack from the monster slugs which even gorged themselves on my beetroot, some of the other crops have flourished.

None more so that the humble parsnip, a vegetable that I have consistently failed to grow successfully since I took on the allotment. I have spent hours raising parsnips in the greenhouse in root trainer cells then carefully transplanting them into individually prepared conical shaped holes filled with sifted soil. All to no avail. The results were invariably the same - stumpy tops and "forking" roots sprouting out in all directions.

This year I took no special care at all. I sowed  3 seeds in a group at intervals direct into the ground and forgot about them. To my amazement they all germinated and I was left with two rows of healthy seedlings.  On harvesting some for the Christmas period I was amazed at how difficult they were to dig up, as it turned out not through frozen or compacted soil but because of their size.

I dug up two with a combined weight 3¼ pounds. Now that's what you call parsnips!

We were going to go to Cyprus for 3 weeks in January but decided we should spend some time re-acquainting ourselves with our house and all the outstanding jobs that have accumulated over the last two years. Needles to say I am still at the "Planning" stage.

The Fox made the front page of the local paper again last week for all the right reasons.

Community pub thrives after time called on food plans

It would appear that after nine months Greene King have finally got the message. The Fox is where local people go to have a drink NOT to sit down and eat. Even their final pathetic attempt to drum up some food trade by installing a hot cabinet on the bar, armed with over priced Peter's Pies, failed miserably. All it was used for was warming up the hands of the boys from the building sites when they came in from work and the unsold produce, which hadn't been nicked when no one was looking, becoming the staple diet of the now quite portly "Who Ate All the Pies Roger", the Landlord.

I am now reading the fourth of the Brentford trilogy novels by Robert Rankine, "The Sprouts of Wrath", in which there is a wonderful passage describing exactly how a pub should be:

"Not one hundred yards due North of Norman's shop, as fair flies the griffin, there stands a public house which is the very hub of the Brentonian universe. Solidly constructed of old London stocks and fondly embellished with all the Victorian twiddly bits, The Flying Swan gallantly withstood the slings and arrows of outrageous brewery management. It's patrons have never known the horrors of fizzy beer or pub grub that comes 'a-la-basket'.

    The Swan had grown old gracefully. The etched glass windows, tinted with nicotine and the exhalations of a million beery breaths, sustained that quality of  light exclusive to elderly pubs. The burnished brass of the beer engines shone like gold and the bar top glowed with a deep patina. The heady perfumes of Brasso and beeswax blended with those of hops and barley, grape and grain to produce an enchanting fragrance all of its own. Only a man born without a soul would not pause a moment upon entering The Swan for the first time, breathe in the air, savour the atmosphere and say, 'This is a pub'.

    But of course, for all its ambience, redolence and Ridley Scottery, a pub is only as good as the beer it serves. And here it must be said that those on offer were of such a toothsome relish, so satisfying in body and flavour as might reasonably elicit bouts of incredulous head-shaking and murmurs of disbelief from the reader.

    Nevertheless the eight hand-drawn ales available were of a quality capable of raising eulogies from seasoned  drinkers, their bar-side converse long hag-ridden by cliches of how much better beer tasted in the good old days."  
                                                                                               Robert Rankine - The Grapes of Wrath

As this particular story unfolds Brentford is chosen to host the Olympic Games, not  at Griffin Park, but in a soon to be erected purpose built stadium supported 500 feet in the air by four large columns. In preparation for the great event the Brewery, (it's got to be Greene King), have unveiled grandiose plans to convert the Flying Swan into an upmarket Hooray Henry 'wine and dine' bar, changing its name to "The Pentathlon Bar". The locals are NOT happy!

Remind you of your local? It reminds me of mine!

When I heard this story I must confess it made me laugh and the Welsh Bard quite rightly felt strongly about it as well:

Another fine day, so once more unto the plot dear friends, once more!

I leave you with this video of Jeff Lynn's new group, appropriately named "The Jeffs" with a track from their latest CD -

Clever! That's a real 'one man band'.

Hey Ho!

A Merry Christmas from the Werewolf to ..............

..... all my faithful "Bloggees",

I pray good beef and I pray good beer
This holy night of all the year,
But I pray detestable drink to them
That give no honour to Bethlehem.

May all good fellows that here agree
Drink audit ale in heaven with me,
And may all my enemies go to hell!
Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel!

May all my enemies go to hell!
Noel! Noel!

— Hilaire Belloc

 Hey Ho!

And finally (just in case!) .........

Today, 21.12.2012, at 11.11 GMT, is the Winter Solstice where the earth's axial tilt is farthest away from the sun.

Druids and pagans are among those who head to Stonehenge each December to watch the sunrise on the shortest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere.

Druid leader King Arthur Pendragon, Aldershot's most eccentric ex-soldier, will be leading the celebrations. Apparently he will be making a "political statement" which he hopes will be heard around the world:

"I will be asking for an end to war, an end to economic slavery and, basically, a cleaner, greener planet", announced the self-declared reincarnation of King Arthur.

I don't know why he is bothering because this year's solstice date also marks the conclusion of the long count cycle of the Mayan calendar, which many people believe indicates the end of the world.

Thousands of believers have gathered in Mexico near ancient Mayan ruins, and in other supposedly spiritual places around the world.

Panic-buying of candles has been reported in China's Sichuan province where police have arrested almost 1,000 members of a Christian group which has predicted that Friday will usher in three days of darkness.

A farmer in Hebei province, Liu has built seven survival pods which can contain 14 people each. The pods, made of fibreglass, float on water and can survive storms.

In Russia, where sales of tinned goods and matches have surged, Prime Minister Dmitry Medvedev has urged his countryfolk to remain calm.

Authorities in the French Pyrenees are preparing for an influx of believers to the mountain Pic de Bugarach, where rumours have spread that UFOs will rescue human gatherers.

So, with that in mind, I thought I better fire out one more blog, just in case.

And all I can say is:

I wish I was back in Fuseta,

Not just 'cause the weather is better.

Wherever you go, the pace is so slow

without any bright lights or glitter.

I think I could live in Fuseta,

I could still send my blogging newsletter.

No hotels or pubs, no taxis or bus

But WIFI for the old internetter!

But I'm no longer out in Fuseta

I'm back in the Boro - much wetter.

The heating is on, shorts and T-shirts are gone

and it's long johns, pyjamas and sweater.

Can't wait to go back to Fuseta,

I'm becoming a bit of a "jetter".

Why stay at home, working the loam?

When out there it's startlingly cheaper.

So with memories of sun in Fuseta.

It's back to the dire English weather.

Return to the grind and each night to unwind

Down the Fox with "Original" bitter!

For those of you who have never been to Farnborough or have manged to erase it from your minds, here's a reminder of what it looks like:

Just looked out of the window and everything seems stable - the sun is actually shining.

So looks like I'll have to do my Christmas shopping after all!

This will cheer you all up:


Hey Ho!

Lesley mourns ..................

...........  the passing of it's most famous resident:

St Peter, God’s official greeter,

Welcomes heaven’s latest guest:

“For years you’ve viewed us from afar

And now, Sir Patrick, here you are –

We hope you’ll be impressed.”

 

St Peter, God’s official greeter,

Hears the new arrival groan

As he collects his golden harp:

“I realise it’s rude to carp,

But where’s my xylophone?”

The Welsh Bard December 2012 

A true eccentric who will always be remembered but never be replaced.

           Sir Patrick Moore RIP

All aboard the Night Train .....

The weather has been kind to us so far in Fuseta.

I have been fishing during the day although the closest I have come to catching anything is this fearsome character:

Even the evenings have been nice and only a little bit chilly.

But today, Thursday, the 12th of our latest excursion to Portugal, for the first time we have not experienced blue skies and sunshine but steady rain and drizzle all day.

Hopefully the weather will improve tomorrow as it is Janice's birthday and although already recognised as an OAP in the UK for the last 5 years, tomorrow she will be officially an OAP in Portugal, entitling her, on production of her passport, to half price rail travel.

In Fuseta rail travel is "the only way to travel" not least because it does not have a local bus service nor, with the exception of the flat bottomed, non-wheeled variety that ferries you to and from Ilha da Armona, any local taxi service but does, for some inexplicable reason, have two railway stations not a mile apart and on the same line.

By rail you can travel west to Olhao, Faro and onwards to Alberfuira and Lagos or east to Tavira and Vila Real San Antonio where you can see across the estuary to Spain.

You just have to take your life into your hands when getting on or off the train - no "Mind the Gap" announcement here.

It was to Tavira that we travelled to yesterday and, having failed miserably to find a particular restaurant, we headed across the river and got lost in the alleys and side streets before coming across a couple of English bars. Following directions from the English locals we got lost again before the Algarve's answer to Brentford's Archie Karachi tempted us into the Punjab Palace Tandoori where we sampled chef Vindaloo Vic's delightful "Prato do Dia" of Lamb Madras, Chicken Tikka Marsala, Tarka Dal, Pilau Rice and Naan  with complimentary popadoms and chutneys, at the ridiculously reasonable cost of £7 a head.

Well stuffed we wandered back across the river and stumbled on the restaurant where we originally planned to have lunch and then came across Tavira Municipal Museum which was hosting two exhibitions:

The first, "FOTOGRAFAR. ANDRADE FAMILY LOOKS ON TAVIRA, reflecting the views of four generations of photographers of the same family, the Andrades, images of Tavira and it's inhabitants and incorporating the history and evolution of photography techniques and equipment from the start of the 20th century to the current day. And jolly interesting it was too!

The second "MANIMAE - THE RADIANT DAYS" an exhibition-reflection on the sustainability of territories, species and human societies, which, frankly passed well over my head and appeared to be various collections of alabaster plaster covered rubber gloves.

There was, however, a blank canvas and a selection of crayons and felt tips for visitors to add their own creation. As you are well aware by now, I didn't get where I am today by passing over an opportunity and left my own little masterpiece.

"Cultured out" we returned early to the railway station, stopping on the way to purchase a pound of homemade sausages from the English "talho" to remedy my sausage withdrawal symptoms.

No visit to Tavira is complete without a troll round the local Lidls emporium which is situated next to the station and even more tatty than it's Blackwater sister. However It never fails to come up trumps and just when we thought we'd forgotten all about 60's soap powders, it gave us:

Must sign off now and open another £1 litre bottle of red hoping that the weather will be kind to Janice tomorrow and leave you with a little toon to conjure up memories of our youth in the 60's.

Hey Ho!