Christmas, and Highlights of 2007

Merry St Stephen's Day to one and all.

We spent Christmas Day at my mother's, with my two brothers and one sister-in-law. For the last few years we have agreed to exchange charity gifts within the family, so I am now the proud sponsor of a child in India, a beading business in Tanzania, and two piglets in the Philippines, while Luc has a donation in his name to the Kent Air Ambulance, is a member of Wildlife Aid and the sponsor of a vulture chick (yes, he was given a gift vulture).

After an excellent dinner, we spent the afternoon playing Yahtsee and Pit, which is quite an undisciplined game at the best of times, but with my brothers? Chaos! I don't think they will ever grow up .... but then we're talking about a politician and a teacher, both in their fifties. It will take me a couple of days to recover.

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So what made 2007 good for me? The holiday in France was superb, and the year at work was successful, although we lost a number of great colleagues who will be - already are - sorely missed; we've gained some good ones, though. The various clubs we belong to, or have joined during the year, provided good company and some interesting events. But I tend to like simple things, particularly wordplay, and it's individual moments that I remember most clearly. Here are some of the best moments of my year.

* My (now moved on to greater things) colleague Graeme announcing to the office that, for Lent, he was giving up sarcasm. Then, when caught out less than an hour later, saying "No really! Well what did you expect?"

* The look of complete dispair on the face of my colleague Melissa, newly arrived from New Zealand, when we helped her make sense of a 'phone message form a hospital in "Ridding" in "Beartshire" ... "But that's reading, not Ridding!"

* Translating aloud the advertising blurb for a French wildlife park. Autriches, cerfs and sangliers weren't a problem (cerfs feature quite heavily if you read Harry Potter in French ... doesn't everyone?), but I found myself asking Luc "What's a nandou?" "Knits jumpers, mostly".

* Oscar the temp thinking that rescue cats are part of the emergency services.

* Spending a warm afternoon in late summer discussing classic motorcycles with a French master distiller while sampling eight or nine of his excellent fruit liqueurs and brandies. Well worth a visit if you're in the Loire valley with an afternoon to spare http://www.distilleriegirardot.oxatis.com/Files/17619/accueil_girardot.htm

* The walk Roger arranged for our motoring club at Harrison's Rocks; a perfect day in a summer that was poor for weather, and a sense of well-being at helping some of our older members complete it.

* 'Phoning the insurance company about one of the two cats I have covered with them, so I need to specify which one I'm calling about. "Could you send me a claim form please? My cat Dyson had to go to the emergency vet". Follwed by a pause and the cautious question " .... Your pet bison?" Then getting home and telling Luc about the conversation and the observation "That would be a hell of a big cat-flap!"

* Being elected captain of a club I'm not even a member of. How desperate can they get? Come to think of it, how gullible can I get??

* James Blunt on Top Gear. Damn! I hated him until I found out he was modest, witty, self-effacing and even able to get Jeremy Clarkson lost for words at one point. Now I've got to admire him, at least, even if I find his music bland.

* Snowball tapping my cheek to wake me at exactly 6.00, and telling her I've got another half hour this morning. Then her tapping my cheek again at exactly 6.30. I swear that cat isn't human .... errrm .... whatever.

* Playing Catopoly with friends ( that's similar to Monopoly, only .... I'm sure you can work it out) I read out my cat-astrophy card "It's raining cats and dogs. Stay in and miss one turn", prompting Luc to ask "How can you tell if it's raining cats and dogs?" "You step in a poodle". Only to realise that two of my friends had never heard it before.


That's about it for now, but I'm sure others will come to mind over the next few days, so I'll add to the list as they do.

All I want for Christmas is .....

..... service provision planners who actually take the needs of the service users into account. Sorry, it looks as though I'm going to end the year on a double whinge.

Firstly, let's start with public transport in London. No, I need to clarify that a little; make it public transport on the outskirts of London. Getting on for two years ago I was made redundant and, joy of joys, stopped commuting into London; I still commute, but now I'm going the opposite way.

My daily journey takes me from my home in the London Borough of Bromley (Zone 5), through the London Borough of Croydon (Zone 5) to my workplace in the London Borough of Sutton (Zone 5). Of course, I can't buy a travelcard just for Zone 5, but they are available for Zones 5 and 6 combined for periods of one week or more. Please note, no one- or three-day tickets are available. So, when my card ran out and I had just three days more to travel to work this year, my options were a) buy a weekly ticket for Zones 5 & 6 and have fours days I don't need; b) buy a three-day ticket for Zones 2-6 and have the freedom of four zones I don't need; or c) buy individual tickets for each part of my journey and have nothing I don't need. But pay a lot extra. I've actually arranged those options in order of cost, cheapest first. Anyone want to buy four days' travel off me?

I see from the TfL website that one- and three- day tickets are available in central London; perhaps the mayoral staff could look at ensuring that council tax payers on the edges of the city get equality of opportunity with those living more centrally in the new year. And while they are about it, could they look at the options for the renewal of travel cards online? It seems I can pay for my new ticket online, then activate it simply by touching my Oyster card in at any underground station ... which would be wonderful if I ever went through an underground station, but they're in rather short supply down south of the river. So it has to be cash at the corner shop - there's a charge for using a card at a ticketshop, apparently.

Then there's the actual layout of public transport itself. According to the AA Routefinder, the precise distance from my home to my work is 9.1 miles; according to TfL's website, this will take me a minimum of 1 hour 33 minutes to arrive at my contracted starting time of 9.00. That's 6 miles an hour, and a journey that reads walk-bus-bus-walk-train-bus-walk. Of course, that doesn't allow for train cancellations (three this week) and delays.

It's enough to drive a person to ... errrrm ... drive.

My other whinge is the disappearance of Post Offices. The sub-post office next to my nearest bus stop - perfect for posting something on the way home from work - closed two years ago, and the main one by the station was gone long before that. My nearest is now abot 15 minutes' walk in the opposite direction to my work - so only available to me on Saturdays. According to my colleagues who live locally, if I wanted to post something in my one-hour lunch-break I'd need either to drive or forego eating; I couldn't get there and back either on foot or by bus in the available time. So, to post a present yesterday I had to take it into work (bus, bus, train, bus - remember?), leave it under my desk for the day, arrange to leave work early (no flexi-time in this job), then make my return journey bus, train, bus, bus, get off bus two miles from home and go to sub-post office, get back on later bus. Or I could drive.

But then, cars are unnecessary in London, apparently.

Sorry about the whinges, but I think it's the season for it. I'll try to come back with my favourite/funniest bits of 2007 before the new year if I can.

Christmas parties - you wait all year, then 9 come along together

It's nearly Christmas, in case you hadn't noticed. The festive songs blaring out in the supermarket for the last six weeks may have given a hint (I feel so sorry for the staff), and the fact that I had to hunt high and low for a birthday card for my brother just confirms it. Then, last week, Christmas party/lunch/whatever season started for me.

I've got nothing against Christmas meals; in fact, I quite enjoy them, but this year seems to have got a bit out of hand. Perhaps the global credit crisis and bird flu have led to panic partying.

I started last Tuesday with my office lunch. Make that my first office lunch. This was in a local golf centre, followed by an afternoon of silly games, and, knowing that there was going to be a surfeit of turkey in the offing, when the menu came round I opted for salmon. That was a bit of a mistake; not that it wasn't good - in fact it was wonderful - but we were at a carvery. So when others started to queue up for their meals I asked, first, a waiter, then the manageress, what those of us who had ordered salmon were supposed to do. The manageress said I should queue for my vegetables with everyone else, and the salmon would follow. Five minutes later, I reached the head of the line and explaned to the gentleman carving that I was only there for the vegetables, my salmon was following. "No, you have to tell the kitchen and they cook it for you, and bring it to your table". So I found the deputy manager, who told the kitchen, and fifteen minutes later my salmon arrived, and I queue-jumped for my vegetables.

Thursday evening was motoring club party, and an excellent buffet laid on by the son of one of the members. The evening included quite a simple - I thought - quiz. But then I set it. No-one else seemed to think it was easy - but quite a bit of it was transport-themed, and the motoring club doesn't do transport. At the end of the evening we were asked if anyone would like a doggy-bag to take home ... and ended up with one each.

Friday was another club bash - for reasons of pc-ness I won't say what club - which was a "bring something to eat and share it with the others" affair, and a good one at that. We always seem to end up going home with more than we brought .... The week previously, the club treasurer had been asking behind my back whether I had a sense of humour as he had something in mind. Well, I still don't know what gift he was planning to present me with because, when he went to buy it, "the hands had fallen off the only one in the shop" so I'll get it in the new year. Do I have a sense of humour? Has the treasurer worked out who the mystery text message was from?

Saturday was a belter. The Volvo Owners' Club Performance Arm meet. Don't laugh, it was fun! No, really, it was!! This involved meeting up at a specialist centre for anyone who wanted to have their Volvo (or, in one case, Chevrolet Chevelle Malibu) dyno-ed and compare power output. We opted out of that part, knowing approximately what ours is and fancying a bit of a lie-in, but apparently people came from as far afield as Ipswich and Birmingham - to Iver, near Slough. Ok, so they are a bit anorakey ... Once everyone was satisfied that their prancing mooses had shown their best, we moved on to a local pub - unannounced - and enjoyed our own selection of bar snacks in excellent company, which suited me perfectly. That brie and cranberry baguette could yet go down as my favourite Christmas meal of the year, and the frank and unguarded talk was a breath of fresh air. We were supposed to go to a bikers' rally in the afternoon/evening, but as we didn't get home until after 5.00 and it was bitterly cold we gave that a miss.

Sunday was, of course, a day of rest. For which I am truly thankful.

On Monday evening, the Volvo Owner's Club Kent Group had their Christmas meal in a pub near Wrotham. This group is much closer to the perceived Volvo-drivers' image, but still a good and amusing group of people. Unfortunately the restaurant was very cold, and the service was - well, not fast, although I have known slower ... but that's another story.

As I write, my work colleagues are enjoying (I hope) the second office Christmas lunch, this time in the canteen. I couldn't face another one today, so I've volunteered to man the 'phones. There was even a bit of a battle for that honour, so I don't think I'm the only one who's feeling jaded. Having said that I'm giving the food a miss, I should perhaps mention the two tins of chocolates and the box of San Antonio taffy (don't ask) that are parked at the end of my bay for all comers to help themselves. Yesterday there was a really messy chocolate Smartie cake there ...

Tomorrow is a standard meeting (yippee!!!) of the bike (as in motorcycle) club. The club bash isn't until Friday, but I understand food won't be the major priority. I've been invited to "drinks and nibbles" with the Research & Development people that evening as well, but have sent my apologies.

However, before we get to that, tomorrow there's the third office lunch - another "bring and share" function. I'm thinking of bringing Bisodol.

Yes, I know it's the season of goodwill and all that, but couldn't it be spread out a bit? How about keeping the goodwill going all year round, or at least until June? Or even have something simple and give a donation to charity instead? There's a limit to how many of these events I can enjoy, but there's also a limit as to how many I can politely decline, and I've already had to explain my absence from today's lunch to more than half a dozen people.

I've still got the actual Christmas to come.

And my mother 'phoned me last night full of plans for her birthday celebrations in February ....

May I take this opportunity to wish you all a merry Christmas and a happy - and health-conscious - New Year.

An alternative career for cats?

It's funny how a simple misunderstanding can make you see things so differently.

A few days ago we were talking about pets over lunch. Our office temp asked if I had any, and I said that I had two cats - both rescue cats, in fact.

Hi face changed to one of incredulous wonder. "Oh my God, what do they do?"

It took me a couple of seconds to realise that he thought my cats went about saving lives. I explained that, no, they were rescued, rather than rescuers. But now, every time rescue cats are mentioned, I have this mental image of Dyson (the big fellow) trudging through the snow with a bottle of brandy round his neck.

Justice is a smoking gun ... I mean ... smoking ban

My jury service is now over and I'm back to my normal routine. I'm going to write very little about the case I was on, the court proceedings, or anything like that, but there is one aspect of what happened over the last two weeks which concerns me.

The UK now has a smoking ban in all public buildings and workplaces. Obviously, this includes court buildings. And, as a juror, you're not allowed to leave the building unless released by the judge (if you're on a case) or the jury clerk (if not on a case). It seems common for most courts to give mid-morning and mid-afternoon breaks, as well as lunch, so - while the evidence is being presented - smokers shouldn't have to go more than a couple of hours at a time between cigarettes.

But then comes the jury deliberations. The twelve of you are locked into a jury room (with private loos en suite) and not allowed to leave until you reach a verdict. Lunch, and anything else you need, is brought in to you. But you can't go out. So you can't smoke. (For the record I don't smoke, and never have).

All that I will say about the case I was on was that it was seen by the judge to be straightforward, and give the events and times of the final day.

We were required to be present at 9.45 am. So that's the time of the last cigarette. We were sent out to deliberate our verdict at about 11.20. Around 12.45 our lunch was delivered, and the usher informed us that no verdicts would be taken between 1.00 and 2.00.

By 2.00 we hadn't quite achieved a unanimous verdict, but weren't far off; ten were in agreement with what became our final verdict, with two unconvinced rather than opposed. One of those was a smoker. It was now over five hours since the last cigarette, and there wouldn't be another one until we had agreed a verdict, given it in court, and been discharged.

The verdict became unanimous within a few minutes of that. I don't know if the need for some nicotine influenced the change of mind, but it could have been a factor. And we took only about three hours to reach our verdict; some cases will take days.

I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that some people are convicted - and some freed - because of jurors' addictions. And that worries me.

A contemptible situation

Over lunch one day in early August, one of the women I work with was describing a visit she'd made to the Old Bailey. The conversation moved on to jury service, with a number of people saying how much they would like to do it, while I commented that I'd done it once (16 years ago) and didn't want to do it again.

The following Saturday morning, the post (gosh, we had postal deliveries then) brought my jury summons for the Old Bailey. I suppose I should have expected it.

I was called for 1st October, which wasn't brilliant timing as the deadline for submitting our bid for our next five years' funding at work was 2nd October and I'm normally involved right at the tail end of any submission but, after discussions with my manager, we agreed not to seek deferral; the funding submission was going to be complete by the end of the previous week as our Director was due at an international conference on 30th September.

On 19th September I returned from a meeting to find I had voicemail; unfortunately, our new state-of-the-art system doesn't record the first ten seconds or so of any message left, so all I had was the final seven digits of a 'phone number. I decided to try prefixing those digits first with 0207, then 0208, and hoping whoever it was would call back if neither of those worked.

The 0207 option got me through to the Jury Summoning Service, so I guessed I was on the right track.

Sure enough, a woman there (and now I so wish I'd taken her name) explained that they had too many people due to come in for jury service on 1st October, and would I mind not serving now? This meant my name would go back into the normal draw and I'd have the same chance as anyone of being called again. Did I mind? Not in the least. In fact, I'm sure my work would be thrilled. I asked if I would receive written confirmation I was not required at the present time, and was assured I would.

I let everyone involved in the funding submission know I wasn't now going to be out of the office for the final couple of days, which news was welcomed as we were now running a little late, and the Director had announced she was sending someone else to the conference in her place.

Personally, I was pleased not to be faced with commuting into London for a couple of weeks; I've done quite enough of that, and now enjoy the confort of commuting in the opposite direction.

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The written confirmation that I wasn't required for my jury service never came. But, by then, I was very involved in the submission and didn't have the opportunity to chase it up.

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The submission had to be received by our funders by 5.00 pm on Tuesday, so I booked a motorcycle courier to leave our place at 3.00. The last page came off the printer at just about quarter to three, and I sealed the envelopes and walked them over to reception. I returned to my desk at 2.50 and the 'phone rang.

It was a clerk from the Old Bailey, asking where I was.

It appears that the woman who told me I wasn't required not only failed to send me written confirmation, but also failed to inform the court that I was excused. So they were expecting me on Monday. Which puts me, by not being there, in contempt of court.

I was asked if I was available to start the following Monday, 8th October.... Was I really likely to say no?

So tomorrow I'll be fighting my way onto an overcrowded commuter train to start my jury service. Let's hope I don't get a long case.

Holiday food ... including a dangerous cheese

I'm pleased to report that the GPS got us home without incident, although it's quite a surreal experience listening to an audio book with the GPS on over-ride: Vianello entered Brunetti's office and sat down without being asked. Brunetti raised his eyes and said "In 300m enter roundabout and take the second exit". I'm even more pleased to report that neither cat was ill on the journey.


Right now, Dyson is re-establishing his mastery of the gardens (not that the ducks and coots - ceet? - would agree), and Snowball is checking every corner and cupboard of the flat to make sure nothing has changed in her absence. So it's time for me to write the food secti0n of the holiday blog.


We always try to stay at the same hotel on either our first or last night - and that's sometimes meant a detour of a couple of hundred kilometres - but we've never had any doubt it would be worth it. The hotel itself is nothing spectacular, but the restaurant is superb - four, five, six and seven course meals of local ingredients expertly prepared by a first class chef; in fact, when the restaurant changed hand a few years ago, the chef insisted on staying on a few months until he was happy that the incoming people were up to standard both on cooking skills and menu preparation. This is where I once had a breathtaking fish course of freshly smoked salmon with avocado sorbet.


This year it was our first night away, after about eight hours of driving and a ferry crossing. We arrived later than planned. I waited in the reception/bar for a minute or so, until Madame breezed out of the restaurant and greeted me with the words "It's the mad cat lady! Welcome back!" She then pressed the key to Room 1 into my hand, said "You know where it is. And no need to hurry down for dinner - come when you're ready"


We descended to the restaurant about twenty-five minutes later, having fed, watered and settled the cats a bit. Our order for aperitifs was taken, and a plate of warm pastry twists placed in front of us. Then we looked at the menu. It had changed. Gone were the expansive six and seven course menus; instead, there was a full à la carte menu, and three selected four course menus - with a choice for each course - at set prices. At first glance we were disappointed, but then we started to examine the set menus ... only slightly put out by Madame's announcement to us of a special for just the one night - grilled cat!


We ordered, and an amuse-bouche was placed before us - a tiny seafood cocktail served in a shot glass! A basket of freshly baked breads came shortly after that. And then came the first courses; for me, a tuna steak seared to perfection with perfectly matched accompaniments and, for my partner, scallops in a wonderfully fresh dressing. After just enough of a pause, the main courses arrives; my lamb beautifully tender and pink, served with a creamy, garlicy potato gratin and a perfectly seasoned cake of layered courgettes, and an expertly prepared duck breast for Luc. Another pause. Then the cheese course. This is what we'd really been waiting for, and we had both made the same choice; coulommiers cheese (described by some as the ancestor of brie, but slighly nuttier), served with a warmed bitter caramel sauce and black pepper. That alone was worth the eight hour drive. But even after that the desserts weren't a let-down - we both finished with panna cotta with a guava coulis. Except it didn't finish; the petits fours arrived - rich, buttery Breton biscuits, bitter dark chocolate disks, and tiny meringues.


The change in menu hasn't put us off; we're looking forward to going back there next year. And the price for these menus? Mine was the middle-priced optiion at 26 Euros (around £18), while Luc's was the most expensive option at 30 Euros.


The rest of the holiday was self catering. We had intended to eat out a few times, but didn't get round to doing so as much as we had planned; Luc loves shopping and cooking in France, as the choice and quality of ingredients is so good without the prices being extortionate. His first few purchases set the scene; sea salt with dried seaweed, full cream unsalted butter, a mill of black pepper, cream and a selection of cheeses, including goats' cheeses.


Luc's first meal was the essence of clean, flavoursome cooking - fresh prawns pan-fried in butter and encrusted with sea salt, followed by a pasta dish with local scallops and bacon in a garlic and cream sauce. Ok, I will admit that our salt and dairy intake went through the roof, but you have to have some excesses ... Both the prawn and scallop dishes made a re-appearance during the holiday, by request. There was also a request for coulommiers with caramel sauce, which Luc does rather well.


Buying a coulommiers (as opposed to ordering it in a restaurant) is always a risky business. It's a wonderful-tasting creamy-textured cheese but, when it's ripe ... After the first time we had tasted it, we bought some in the hypermarket in Calais to take home. Soon after leaving Dover we decided we couldn't actually have it in the car with us, so taped it to the rear spoiler. It went straight into the fridge the moment we got home but, when I was preparing my breakfast the following morning, there was a shout from upstairs "You've opened the fridge door!"


So this year we bought one anyway. And the following day, taped a note saying "Attention au coulommiers" to the fridge door. It was fine as long as you planned what was needed from the fridge and got it all out in one go ... And we did end up with a wonderful starter a couple of days later, complete with caramel sauce and fresh black pepper.


One of the best things about being on holiday is having the time to take a leisurely breakfast, so croissants, fresh bread, cheeses, cold meats and filtered coffee were the order of the day. I wonder if I could arrange to start work later ... Also, when on holiday, I won't pass on an opportunity to eat the things I don't - for whatever reason - get at home. So when, after a day out, we called in at the local supermarket and found fresh veal it quickly found its way into our basket, and was served with a beurre blanc and fresh vegetables. And while in Brittany, most evening meals (and one or two lunches) were accompanied by the local cider - real, full-flavoured, sweet without being sugary, and totally unlike the commercial British stuff.


We moved on to the Loire Valley and chose to eat out for the first night. By which I mean at the campsite restaurant, a few miles from a small village you won't have heard of, slightly further away from a minor Loire town, and about 40 minutes' drive from Blois. It took a while to track down someone to say we wanted to eat - the England football match on the bar tv probably didn't help - but once a waiter was found he was very helpful and showed just the right amount of attention without being intrusive. We shared a salad of fresh tomatoes, mozzarella and onions, followed by an entrecote steak with pepper sauce for me, and duck breast with roquefort sauce for Luc, both with fresh vegetables. When the dessert menu produced a comment that Dame Blanche didn't have enough chocolate, the waiter immediately offered an option of Dame Noire .... And, of course, Coupe Colonel - a tall glass containing three balls of lime sorbet filled to the brim with vodka!


I haven't even mentioned desserts we bought to eat "in". A light sponge tart with rich chocolate sauce stirred into it before cooking, coconut, chocolate mint, almond, dark chocolate, and chestnut mousses, cremes brulées, and - the find of the holiday - totally natural confit de lait and lavendar ice creams. I can't describe the sensation of eating something that smells like lavendar, feels like thick cream in the mouth, and tastes very slightly of ginger - I only wish we could get it here. Does anyone know any local ice cream makers they could pass the idea on to please? But it has to be real dairy cream, egg yolks, etc.

So now we're home, and I have a feeling today's main meal will be the one thing we really missed while we were away - a very good Indian!

Travels with my GPS

Well, we're nearly at the end of the holiday, and there have been no major catastrophes (yet). I think I'm going to write the holiday blog in several parts; travel, food, tourism, and whatever else comes to mind.

So here's the travel part.

We didn't get off to a very good start. We left home later than planned, then one of the cats was ill on the way to Dover and, as a result of stopping to clean him up, we missed the ferry. Only just - the vehicle before us got on - but we had to wait for the next one. At least we had GPS to make sure we didn't get lost on the way to our overnight stop some six hours drive away in Brittany.

We forgot one thing. We have very few toll roads in Britain, but Luc had been up near Birmingham recently and had set the GPS to avoid them. France, of course, has lots of toll roads. And we hadn't reset the GPS. The funny thing was that it didn't avoid all toll roads, just those that were "exceptional" in some way, so it had taken us through a section of tolled autoroutes before it suddenly routed us south. It was only some time later when I commented that it seemed to be avoiding the tolled bridge at Le Havre that we realised what had happened, but by that time we'd taken quite a detour and there wasn't much we could do. So I 'phoned the hotel, reassured them we were on our way and gave them a new ETA and all was well.

We've travelled in France with a couple of GPS systems before, but not this one. It's strange. You can programme it for either fastest route, or shortest, but nothing in between - for example, you can't give it a balance of mostly shortest but some fastest to avoid really minor roads. As a result, we've been down a fair number of minor roads - some of them very minor - some of them scarcely roads. Going from the north coast of Brittany to Brest in the far west, we found ourselves going through winding lanes and small villages, never more than five km from the main E road at any time, but cutting off all possible corners. Not that we lost too much time going that way, as the car pushing us from behind for a substantial part of the trip seemed to be driven by Alain Menu. Front wheel drive with gravel edges to the road is fun, if you're not the one driving.

That was our only major trip while in Brittany but this week, in the Loire Valley between Amboise and Blois, we've been further afield. "Afield" seems highly appropriate in this case, as we've gone down quite a few single roads with little in the way of passing places. Make that "aforest" as well - yesterday we found ouselves on a logging road ... But it means we've seen some very beautiful bits of rural France, found some charming villages, and been dazzled by the sun glinting off the white stone of everything from the finest chateau to the simplest farmhouse. So I'm not complaining.

I will, however, be double-checking that toll roads are included in the acceptable routes before we start our long drive home tomorrow.

Deduct the cat you first thought of ....

.... or Holidays with Cats part two.

And we haven't even gone yet.

Having got the accommodation and travel more or less sorted, my mind turned to insurance. Both the cats are insured at home (and we've had reason to be grateful over the last few months as Dyson has had two bouts of an infection), but what if either of them was ill or injured while we are in France? I checked the home policy, and it's rather vague on that point; we are covered for delays or cancellations caused by something happening in the UK before our planned departure, but it wasn't clear if they were covered abroad.

So I telephoned the insurance company and asked. And got put on hold.


Some history: Snowball was our first cat, and was insured. When we got a second cat I 'phoned to insure him and was told we would have a 5% discount if he was put on the same policy; I couldn't see any problem with this, so he was added to Snowball's policy.


I learnt the downside to having two cats on one policy when I came off hold. We can only have "Pets Abroad" cover on one animal per policy. So the woman at the insurance centre explained my options:

1) Only have one cat insured in France; or

2) Remove Dyson from Snowball's policy and set his own up.

Of course, having them on two separate policies means we lose the 5% discount. BUT if I take out a new policy online I get 20% discount on that one.

Ok, but there's another problem with taking Dyson off the existing policy; we've got a pending claim for his most recent infection, and don't want to confuse matters. And, if he got set up with a new policy, would his recent illnesses be taken as pre-existing?

So we went for option 3. Snowball got taken off her own policy (and would probably be far from amused at being usurped if she ever found out) and has been re-insured on her own again. At a 20% discount. And I get clubcard points with that policy.

As they say, every little helps.

Have cats, will travel

We seem to be going on holiday soon, which is quite an achievement this year. You need to understand two things:

1) We normally take our holiday in September - no kids of our own, and we're sick of parents telling theirs not to play outside their window, so they come and play outside ours instead; and

2) Since the time we left our first cat with neighbours and she didn't move for two weeks until we came home, the two cats come with us.

It's probably my fault we didn't get things booked months ago, but things were hectic early on, then, in July (note after the cheap June period) my Director at work ruled that "requests for leave in September will not be looked upon kindly". It's only recently been agreed that I can have a very specific time off (it's wonderful being so unimportant that you can be spared even at the busiest time), so last weekend I started trying to sort something out.

So we're looking for two weeks camping (i.e. renting a static caravan or similar) in France for specific dates, cats allowed. Oh, and, we've got a favourite hotel in Brittany that we like to spend either our first or last night at, and they adored the cat last time we were there two years ago (only one cat then - last year we stayed in the UK as the new cat didn't have a passport). And we know which ferry company we want to use.

You may have heard that the British are a nation of animal lovers. That may be true in general terms, but it isn't when it comes to holidays.

I've only been able to find one British company operating in France that allows cats (Venue Holidays - I would heartily recommend them). The problem is, unless you go right down to the south of France, they've only got two sites open in September, and we've been to both twice before and fancy a change. Then I found out that two of the big companies will be accepting animals at selected sites next season, so I sent an email to both asking if, as it was the very end of the season, they might like to use us as a trial run. Both said no. One took a few hours; the other took several days.

So I had the idea of booking direct with the French-owned sites that those same companies use, and found it was possible in Brittany, but not in the Loire Valley. But Venue Holidays have a place in the Loire Valley that's open. Ok, we can work this out.

Then I found that the ferry company we wanted to use didn't have an outbound sailing at a time that suited us. But another did. So by Sunday night, what I needed to book was:

1) An outward ferry with Sea France;
2) An inward ferry with Norfolk Lines;
3) The hotel in Brittany for the first night;
4) Six nights directly with the camp site in Brittany - or seven if the hotel can't fit us in (only 13 rooms); and
5) Seven nights in the Loire Valley with Venue.

Easy.

1) Sea France can be booked online, cats no problem. That's done.
2) I ought to telephone the hotel myself, but it's been two years since I spoke any French, I'm tired, and I have the option of reserving online through Logis de France. An enquiry is sent.
3) Norfolk Lines have to be booked by 'phone because of the cats. And they charge a £4 supplement for 'phone bookings - but they waive that because I couldn't book online with the animals. Then, because we're crossing from France to England, they quote the fare in Euros. Thanks to the strong £, I save about £10. Thank you, Norfolk Lines, we'll be travelling with you again.
4) I'll leave booking the campsite in Brittany until I hear back from the hotel, just in case we need to go there a night earlier.

By now it's Monday evening.

5) I call Venue, and Peter is very helpful. At present they can't take us for the first of the seven nights we want but the other six are available and, if we call closer to the time, they may have a cancellation. He checks with the site, which has changed ownership, and the cats are still not a problem. At least, dogs are permitted, so he can't see a problem with cats. So we book six nights there, and decide to book just six nights in Brittany, leaving the middle night unaccounted for. If Venue can't accommodate us later on, we may well be able to add a night in Brittany.

If all else fails, there's always Formule 1.

So 1, 2 and 5 are booked, and I can't do 4 until I hear from 3. And we're talking less than three weeks' time.

I don't hear from the hotel on Tuesday.

At 8.30 pm on Wednesday - just when I'm thinking I'll have to call the hotel myself after all - Logis de France respond. Sorry, unavailable. But we want to stay there; the food is wonderful.

So I telephone France. I give Madame the date we want, the number of people ... oh, and two cats. Madame pauses, and asks if we've stayed there before. Yes, several times; the last was two years ago with a pure white cat. "Snowball! - Don't worry what Logis tell you, we can fit you in! Will you be wanting to dine with us?" Yes please!

Then I go online and book the first site - a terraced cottage with just about everything you could ask. The supplement for the cats is 24 Euros. The supplement for internet access, tv and freezer is about 34 Euros.

That leaves one night still unaccounted for but, having got this far, that doesn't bother me.

What does bother me is why my cat can get a hotel booking when I can't!

But, then, she's petite, blonde and very beautiful....

Unity Ride 2 - a shameless plug

There's been a lot in the news lately about terrorist bombings in the UK. First we had the failed attempts in London and Glasgow, then the second anniversary of the 7/7 bombings, and for the last week the news has been full of the trial arising from the 21/7 attempted bombings. It could be a very somber time, and for anyone who was a victim of any of these, or knew someone who was, I would expect it has been very painful.

I wasn't directly affected by the events of 7/7; yes, I failed to get across London to a course I was supposed to be observing, but that's all. For me, it was 21/8/05 that was really moving - and in a positive, hopeful way. But as very few people will know what happened that day, and why it's relevant again now, let me explain, as well as I am able.

On 7/7, an employee of University College, London was delayed getting to work by the bombings, and later learnt one of his colleagues had been killed. He wanted to do something personal to pay his respects to all the victims, and discussed with a friend the idea of taking a motorcycle trip round all the bomb sites to do so. A few more people got involved, and they asked permission to mention it to motorcycling groups and forums they were involved with. The police were approached about the possibility of a group ride, and they suggested a date, route, and some officers volunteered to take time off to marshall the ride. A website was set up, and a number of starting points around the edges of London were arranged, but the ride wasn't advertised - word was just passed on from friend to friend. We wanted to pay our respects, but also show that the terrorists couldn't frighten us out of London.

The Unity Ride took place on 21st August 2005, just six weeks after the 7/7 bombings that had inspired it. I was part of a group of a hundred or so bikes that met up at a cafe south of London, and rode in convoy to the main meeting point in central London. We couldn't believe it when we got there; the official count was just under 3,500 bikes.

We rode as one massive convoy around the city, stopping to lay wreaths at each of the bomb sites, and the memorial gardens. Taxis brought families of some of the victims round with us and, from what I gather, they were very moved by the sheer volume of support they felt. There was an amazing feeling of hope about that day, and pride in what we were doing. The police were wonderful, and the whole event passed off without incident (although there was one moment when the wreath was being laid at the memorial gardens when a motorist decided he didn't want to wait and started to get very aggressive towards the nearest police officer, then realised that there were a couple of hundred bikers dismounting, prepared to come to the - female - officer's aid....). Money raised from the day was given to the charity set up for victims and their families.

At the start of this year, discussions started about a second ride. This one is different - for a start, it is being advertised, and it's to raise money for a couple of children's charities - Help a London Child and Children in Need, to be precise. It's planned as a celebratory event, rather than a memorial. Of course, events of the last few weeks have raised the issue of terrorist attacks in the UK again, and I'm sure some of the riders on the second ride will have recollections of the first and what it meant. We will also be returning to the memorial gardens, and have invited relatives of some of the victims of the 7/7 bombings to accept a wreath.

So here's the shameless plug for Unity Ride 2.

Unity Ride 2 takes place on Sunday, 19th August 2007. It has full police support, and marshalls are currently being trained to the highest standards including FBOS (First Bike on Scene) first aid. It is also supported by the Institute of Advanced Motorists, RoSPA Advanced Drivers Association, BMF, MAG and others.

There are various starting points around London (Box Hill, Oakdene, High Beeches, Ace Cafe, and possibly others - I can't remember), from where smaller groups will ride into central London. All groups meet together at Royal Albert Way (near London Excel East), from where the main ride leaves at 1 pm. The route round London is scenic, taking in a number of major attractions, and will end at The Ace for a family celebration. There are plans to lay on open-topped buses for families and other non-riders.

This is also an excellent opportunity to remind the London authorities that motorcyclists cannot be ignored, and to make a positive impression about the motorcycling community.

If you are a motorcyclist, please try to join us. If you know anyone who is a motorcyclist, please pass on details. But note that anyone joining the ride NEEDS TO REGISTER FIRST at www.unity2.unityride.co.uk

where full details and a forum can be found. There is a £5 per bike registration fee; £4 of this is split between the two charities, and the other £1 goes towards the costs of training the marshalls for this and future events. No money goes to the organisers and, in fact, advertising and promotion costs are being met from the pockets of the organisers and volunteers.

This should be a wonderful and worthwhile day. I hope to see some of you there. At least 5,000 would be nice.

To tan or not to tan

Has anyone else noticed it's supposed to be summer? And what does that mean in today's society? For some, hay fever, for others an even bigger curse - getting a sun tan.

I've finally accepted I'm not the type that tans easily. Actually, hold the "easily" - I'm not the type that tans. Most of the time, it doesn't really bother me; I tend to wear long skirts or jeans, so my legs are usually covered, and my arms get a bit of colour, and that's it. But ... I have a keep fit/dance performance coming up at the start of July, and that means looking "healthy".

So for the last few weeks -since we were discussing costumes and my teacher mentioned the word "skirt" - I've been thinking what to do. A real tan or sunbed are out of the question (my brother once described me as going "brown as a lobster", and I was painfully aware how accurate that was). I've used one of those moisturising tans for three weeks or so, but my legs were still looking white until a couple of days ago, then I put it on carelessly and they went streaky. A magazine I bought recently had a review of different salon tans and I was considering whether I could justify - or even wanted - to do that. Then one of my colleagues came back from an overseas holiday ... and seeing her made me feel sick. Not with jealousy - I mean literally; my first thought was "Doesn't she care about skin cancer? And even if she avoids that, what has she done to the ageing of her skin?" And having seen her, I don't want to look like that, even if it does come from an aerosol and is totally safe. But I will be under the lights for the performance.

Then on Tuesday, my teacher finally revealed the costumes; a vest top in orange, turquoise or brown, a scarf tied round the hips and - oh joy - black trousers. So my legs will stay white for another year.

How many schoolboys does it take to change a light bulb?

Many years ago I was waiting at a bus stop to go to Brownies when an older lady came and studied the timetable and, after tracing the 0645 to 0715 times with her finger, decided that she had about a fifteen minute wait for her bus. Being a good Brownie, I pointed out that those were the morning times and, if she looked from 1845 onwards, she'd find a bus was due in a couple of minutes. Her reply was along the lines of "Oh, I can't make sense of all that 24 hour nonsense, so I use the bit I understand". As a nine-year-old or thereabouts, I was shocked that she didn't realise that you can't make the morning times apply to the evening just because that's all you can read.

Yesterday morning, on the train to work, I was listening to the conversations of three secondary school boys (well, I had little choice but to listen - their shouting came well over the sound from my MP3 player). They were passing round a Key Stage 3 Mathematics book, and one was repeatedly asking the others to "test me on the brown box". Eventually, one of them agreed.

"How many feet are there in 12 yards?"

A long pause, then "Four? ... No, eight"

The first boy gave him the correct answer, then the one who had asked to be tested grabbed the book back and complained "That's not fair, that's not in the box. We're only supposed to know single units, like three feet in one yard. You should only be asking me single units".

I was appalled. Any amount of knowledge is no use without the willingness at least to try to apply it (a friend of mine, with a First from Oxford, didn't know how to remove spilled cherryade from a cream, long-piled carpet, so left it until the library opened two days later when he could research it). I've heard it said that children are only taught how to pass exams these days, but surely that includes some element of applying what you've learnt? And anyway, knowing that there are three feet in a yard is not mathermatics but memory skills; multiplying those three feet by the 12 yards and coming to the right answer is mathematics. But if that's Key Stage 3, then I'm really worried. Apart from which, why were they learning Imperial measures?

But should I have been surprised? In a quiz a few months ago, we were asked the name of Scrooge's dead partner in "A Christmas Carol", and one of my colleagues said, without even thinking, "I've never read it, so I don't know". Somewhere along the line to her PhD she's got the idea that, if she hasn't studied something in a worthy text, she doesn't know the answer. Even if she does.

Looking back to when I was a Brownie waiting for a bus I think, perhaps, I was hard on that woman. She has some knowledge, and was trying to use it, albeit incorrectly. I would be happy to have more people like her around these days.

It must be spring - the cats are changing colour

Welcome to my first ever blog!

We own (although I use that word very loosely) two cats, both aged around eight and both rescued. And that's where the similarity between them ends. Snowball (an unoriginal name, I know, but don't blame us - she was already named) came to us four years ago; she's white, delicate, and fiendishly clever. This is a cat who uses mirrors to hunt toys, socks, etc. Dyson (named by the rescue centre for the loudness of his purr, although it could equally well apply to his eating habits) is male, black with just a few white hairs on his chest - not enough to be a white patch - over 7kg (although the vet says he's not overweight, just big) and looks continually confused. He's been lounging around our place for just over a year now.

At least, they were white and black. But we've had some spring-like weather recently.

Snowball will go out for a few hours at a time, and find somewhere safe to sleep. For the last couple of days, "safe" appears to have been under a neighbour's "restoration project" car; there's no more obvious explanation for the large oil spot on the middle of her back. This doesn't seem to cause any ill effects or bother her at all; she'll still sit next to me in the hope of getting some extra food with a look on her face which says "I can carry this off; I'm still totally beautiful".

Dyson, if he can, only comes in for meals now that it's warmer. Yesterday I opened the front door at 6.45 am and found him sitting patiently on the step. He was a sort of yellowish green. I would guess his preferred sleeping spot is under a shrub in the garden.

Yes, it's spring. The cats are changing colour.