On Ya Bike - Richmond Park & Richmond Hill

Hopefully this will be the first of many posts about bike rides this summer, and where better to start than the old favourite....

Richmond Park is the largest open space in all of London with plenty of deer and great views back to the city and further out to the South West of London. It also has a great 12km ring road which is well paved and where bikes rule just as much as cars. Also fortunate is that Putney is only 3km from the Park, so has become our usual jaunt for a quick ride.

The ride typically starts with a pick up of my usual partner in crime in any ride - Jabs - though sometimes we manage to pull along a few others. Usually it is only for a lap or two, depending on whether we get waylaid by the decision to stop off for a pint (which obviously curtails the appetite for more laps). The Park really is a great place to ride, you don't have to bike miles to get the feeling of being outside of the city. The drivers are always (well, normally) respectful of riders, and there is always the roaming deer or the views to keep you occupied. Here is a montage of photos of the Park and some of the views.




I mentioned the pints and I think an explanation is required for this distraction.
This is because the distraction is none other than Richmond Hill, which is just outside one of the gates to Richmond Park. On top of the hill is this great little Terrace, where on the other side of the road is, of course, a great little pub - The Roebuck. The CAMRA-listed Roebuck always has a couple of well-kept guest ales on handpump, and where better to drink them with the World Heritage view of Petersham Meadows and the Thames. Is becoming one of my favourite spots.

Summertime

Well, summer has well and truly arrived here in London. We had thought so a month ago when we had a couple of days around 27/28 degrees, but then the weather went very average on us - cold and wet, probably the worst weather I have had over here. But since last weekend we have had fabulous weather, with consistent temperatures in the high 20s. Of course, I could do without the balmy nights - I don't think I have had more than 3 hours sleep in over a week.

We made the most it on Saturday though, when we went down to a local pub for Todd's birthday (the Red Lion in Barnes) and enjoyed the atmosphere of their garden bar. They had a magnificent spit roast with plenty of crackling and they do all right on the beer front too - with a well-kept Fullers range, the Discovery being the order of the day (a refreshing and light blonde beer, perfect for a hot summer day).









Of course, if you don't know it (and you can't not over here), there is something else kicking off at the moment. The Football World Cup. I think there are other sports and news going on in the world, but I probably won't know about for the next few weeks. The first England game (vs Paraguay) was also on that same Saturday afternoon, and while the others headed off into some dark smoky pub to watch it, I couldn't quite face leaving the sun and decided to follow the game retro-style - by listening to it on the radio in the beer garden. It worked a treat, I didn't miss out on much (the game was fairly average) and I was able to continue to soak up the rays while still catching the action (for the record, England managed a scratchy but all important 1-nil win).

Monday today, and the hottest day yet - I think it was suppose to get to 30 degrees. I took a leisurely lunch out in the sun and seemed to have a fair bit of company with me. They love their sun these Poms. Suited guys get their shirts off, and I've heard girls get out in their thongs (and not of the feet variety). The shots below are from what is called the Winter Gardens (hardly apt for a day like today), which actually sits right on top of the Canary Wharf tube station.










Hopefully I will have a few more stories of great summer days to post. Though, a warning to you all (especially you kids), sun and good beer is not always a good combination....

Pub Watch: The Fat Cat (Norwich, Norfolk)

A couple of weekends back it was Bank Holiday Monday over here and Anna and I decided to get a hire car and drive up to Norfolk for the weekend. First stop was Norwich, where surprise surprise, I had heard there were a number of very fine pubs. After we arrived late Saturday afternoon, we set off in search of a few of these pubs that sat out in the suburbs. Little did I know the great pub I was to come across - maybe the most impressive I have ever been to.

Of course, I had done some research and I did know The Fat Cat was going to be a good one. The CAMRA Good Beer Guide had said "a treasure trove of a pub and a real ale drinker's paradise". It has also twice won the CAMRA National Pub of the Year (1998 & 2004), so its credentials were there. After already having a couple of pints at our first pub (The Alexandra Tavern) it was only a gentle walk a couple of blocks to The Fat Cat.
From the outside it doesn't look anything too special, a standard red brick building (of which there were plenty in Norwich) with a few tables outside. But is was inside that the fun began....

Walking into the pub it was clear they weren't kidding when they said a real ale drinker's paradise. At the bar, there looked to be about 15 handpumps with many beers I hadn't seen before. And then I noticed that there was another room behind the bar where there were a number of casks lined up serving gravity fed ale (where the ale is served straight from a tap in the cask). It was then that I noticed the blackboard listing all the ales available and fell into a mix of astonishment and euphoria.
You can count them - no less than 27 real ales listed, and in fact there was another four on a specials board, so it was really 31. Add to that the keg beers they had on draught (which ranged from the usual Guinness and Stella Artois to Belgium beers like Liefmans and Leffe), and there was over 40 different beers to choose from. I didn't even bother looking at the bottled beers, but I am sure they would have had a fair range there too.

So without further adieu, I got cracking to sampling some new ales, including some from the their own Fat Cat stables. In all, four new ales tasted by myself, the best being the Fat Cat Pussy Galore, a cask pilsener - which is unusual - with a light citrus hop aroma and good peach and citrus flavours. Anna had a couple of half pints of the Fat Cat Meow Mild (after being recently converted to the joy of Mild Ales) - which had a strong chocolate flavour with a little cherry fruit and a tangy mouthfeel l that belied its 3.8%.

Apart from having an incredible selection of beer, the Fat Cat was also simply a great pub, with lots of rooms and nooks and crannies, and a good atmosphere inside. It was also very popular and locals obviously make the effort to go out to this beauty. And why not, I doubt there is a better pub for many a mile, if at all. It was difficult to pull myself away with so many beers not sampled, but the rest of Norwich (including a superb dinner) beckoned....

"A fine city" and Norfolk

As you drive into Norwich, the city slogan tells you that it is "a fine city". And a fine city it certainly is. After visiting some of the establishments the night before and having one of my best meals in recent memory - Anna and I woke up the next morning keen (well, admittedly there were a few cobwebs from the night before) to check out what else the "fine city" had on offer.

Using the trusty visitor guides picked up at the Information Centre the evening before, and fuelled with the obligatory B&B Full English Breakfast, we set off for a leisurely morning stroll around the city. First stop was the Riverside Walk around the outskirts of the central city. And very pleasant it was indeed - you could have just about forget you were in the city. A few canal boats and remnants of times past made the walk a perfect distraction from the small hangover I had somehow acquired. Norwich is certainly an attractive city, belying its population of nearly 400k, with plenty of little medieval streets and pedestrian streets. It has the standard castle and Cathedral - though even these are better than most - the former being a practical blueprint for Norman castles, and the grounds of the main Cathedral (Norwich actually has 2) are certainly worth the look.










After one last quick pint at a pub recommended to me by a work colleague (well, it would have been rude not to) - Anna and I left the fine city behind us and headed north into Norfolk. With plans to meet up with a couple of ramblers (aka Brad & Sharon) later that afternoon on the northern Norfolk Coast, I did what I do best and picked a rambling course of our own through various little country roads and lanes. After a stop for lunch - at a pub of course (I have become an appreciator of the Ploughman's Lunch, which was basically a block of cheese the size of your head, some pieces of bread, various pickles and salad) - we made it up to Wells where we had planned to meet up with the ramblers.

Having read that Wells-next-the-Sea was a delightful seaside town, we were looking forward to the visit - but we forgot about the English definition of "a delightful seaside town" = over-crowded, garish shops, amusement arcades, large caravan parks, etc. Prompting a quick getaway, we quickly put out the Code Red to Brad & Sharon for a change of plan and instead met them at another town a couple miles down the road - happily devoid of all the English "delights". After getting a low down on all their rambling tales of the last couple of days - comprising accounts of this leg is sore, my hip aches here, etc - we chased some deer around a nearby Manor's grounds and then headed off to find the campsite that Brad & Sharon were staying at.

Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately) finding that the campsite (more accurately just a paddock on some guy's farm) had room for Anna and I as well, we quickly set up the tents before heading out for the evening - and yes, before you hurt yourself with all that chortling, Anna and I have been known to camp it out from time to time. Anyway, enough of that! Managed to visit another couple of CAMRA Good Beer Guide entries out in the countryside (inclding this traditional flint-built gem - The Three Horseshoes) for dinner and a few pints, before heading back to our camp site and walking back into Wells - which we found to actually have some charm in its back streets away from the beach - for one last drink before heading back to our luxury accommodation.

Walking up a sunny day (well, it was more like 5-bloody-am with the days lengthening out here) and a horse that sounded like it had a severe gastro-intestinally problem, we scrubbed ourselves up into some kind of order and headed off in search of a decent breakfast (Brad & Sharon enthusiastic to skip their breakfast the earlier day of leftover citrus zest couscous). Back into Wells - which was now growing on us, minus the hoards - we found a nice hotel on the side of the village green and found that they could fit us in for breakfast. Finding that for £10-a-head we could order anything we wanted off the breakfast menu as many times as we wanted, we settled in to fill up the tanks. A bowl of fruit salad for all was followed by coffee, croissants and pain-au-chocolat, followed by Full English breakfasts and grilled banana and bacon on brioche. It was while we were waiting to be able to fit through the doors again that we saw some very favourable reviews the hotel had received, and especially its NZ chef (the grilled bacon and banana made sense now).

Eventually we left Wells behind us, but picked up some extra load for our little Vauxhall - after much deliberation and prodding of sore body parts, Brad & Sharon finally made the decision that coming back home with us in the car was much more appealing than trekking the rest of the Norfolk Coastal Path and getting the train back to London. Of course, this meant they were now part of Sam's Tours, involving much research of the CAMRA Good Beer Guide and getting lost down various country lanes. We had already decided that we would head south by going through the Norfolk Broads, which is the vast flat wetlands area east of Norwich, spider-webbed with waterways and canals. So we had a pleasant drive back down through Norfolk, stopping at a couple of pubs in the Broads, complete with (busy) moorings for canal boats and even used a car ferry that travelled a whopping 10 metres. The picture is of Locks Inn, an old 17th centruy smugglers haunt that is the most remote pub in Norfolk.

All in all, a good long weekend spent discovery another area of English countryside - which never fails to please.

For some more pics, click here.

Cardigan Bay

In our travels around Wales we drove up the coast of one Cardigan Bay.

However, this made me think of another Cardigan Bay....
Famous pacer from New Zealand, the first harness horse to win US$1million and described as the "daddy of them all". Many famous victories for Cardy, including an Interdominion, two Auckland Cups, and a New Zealand Cup. The later being a famous victory seeing that he won it from a 54 yard handicap!

So big ups from The GrandMaster to Cardigan Bay (1956-1988).

Man's Dilemma....

So cute

but so tasty!

Pub Watch: Dyffryn Arms (Pembrokeshire, Wales)

Back in February I read an article in the monthly CAMRA newsletter about a strange little pub somewhere in Wales run by an 80-year-old lady in what was pretty much the front room of her house. I had pretty much forgotten about it when traveling through Wales, but while fingering through the pages of my CAMRA Good Beer Guide I came upon a very familiar description of a "fascinating bar that resembles a 1920s front room where time has stood still". By happy coincidence, we had just organised to stay in a B&B only a few miles from where this pub should be and I was keen to pay the Dyffryn Arms a visit.

After a great dinner of Welsh Black Beef and armed with directions from our friendly B&B lady (a whole story in herself), we managed to steer ourselves through very rural Wales at about 9.30pm on a Wednesday night to (the very scenic) Gwaun Valley where the "pub" was supposedly located. If we hadn't been watching out closely for it we certainly would have driven straight past it. Just a non-descript blue house at the bottom of the valley with just a few other houses around it. All was pretty dark and I had resigned myself to just taking a photo of it from the outside. But then a dog started barking and as I was just about to jump back into the car, out opens a side door, an old lady sticks her head out, looks me up and down and abruptly says "I was wondering what that was all about". I realised that this must be the infamous proprietor - Bessie Davies according to the sign at the front of the pub - and sheepishly asked whether the pub was open. Just as abruptly she said yes and turned around and went back inside. Taking a few seconds to realise this meant we were suppose to follow, we locked the car and followed her inside. Into to a small corridor, she opened a side door and ushered us inside to what was the bar before leaving us and heading into another door on the other side - which we later worked out must be where she lives.

Now "interesting" and "fascinating" do not really describe the Dyffryn Arms. We had entered a small room that was no bigger than a bedroom, with a whole collection of different seating, one table and a small fire going in the fireplace. There were some funny old photos hanging on the wall and the whole place had this 'time stopped still' feel to it. Apart from the photo of Queen Elizabeth, looking considerably younger than she does now, there was also a photo of a Prince of Wales from 1896. However, the centrepiece of the room was the serving hatch with a sliding window and the mysteries that lay behind.









Needless to say, there was no one else around. Waiting a minute or so we could hear some movement on the other side of the hatch and then it slid open, the landlady stuck here head out and asked us what we would like. Behind the hatch was a small narrow room with some shelves directly behind with some random bottle of beers on it and a cask set up on the floor. She informed me that the cask beer was Bass and I ordered a pint and a half pint of that. She expertly decantered the beer straight from the cask into a jug, which she bought up to the counter and poured into our glasses. There weren't any price lists about, but it only cost me £3.10 all up for the finest pint of Bass I have ever had (not typically a great beer). I embarked on a few niceties and a few questions and must have sufficiently captured Bessie's interest as she decided to join us in the front room.

Looking pretty cold (especially with fingerless gloves on), Bessie moved a big old seat in front of the fire and proceeded to suffer a barrage of questions from me. She was actually reasonably talkative, especially considering she probably gets numerous visits from beer nerds like me asking exactly the same questions. But it certainly is an interesting story. The pub has actually been in her family's hands for its whole life - ever since the house was first built in the 1830s - and hasn't really changed since. You can nearly imagine those many years ago, when entertainment was much simpler, that bars like this were fairly common, people using parts of their houses to provide locals with somewhere to go and drink. Bessie herself had been running the pub for the last 56 years, she informed us, which is pretty incredible. And though it was quiet tonight, she said that in the weekend as much as 100 people can come to the pub and her granddaughter comes down to help her out (it sounded like her whole family lived in the area). Looking around, I was wondering where these 100 people went. Wednesday night is typically very quiet, but coincidently she had had another New Zealander in earlier that evening, a sheep shearer from a local farm (of which, apparently, there are quite a few NZers in Wales). I was also interested in why she stocked Bass as her cask beer - her reason being that it keeps very well for a cask beer (up to 6 or 7 days, which is obviously very important for a pub that is not going through a huge amount of beer) and is always consistent in its quality and taste. She clearly also has a keen knowledge of beer and cask cellaring.

I would have loved to ask her how long she expected to run the place and what would happen to it after her, but I thought that might be a bit on the nose. This pub really is one of a kind and I feel pretty lucky that I had the fortune to go there. We returned the next morning to take a photo of the Dyffryn Arms in the light of day and also the charming Gwaun Valley (you can just make it out on the left behind the trees). I guess it is unlikely I will have the opportunity to go there again (though I would gladly make a special trip up there for a good session on the Bass - Stuey, this place is for you), but I will never forget my pint with Bessie.

Pub Watch: Cherry Tree Inn (Wye Valley, Wales)

"Should not be missed" says the CAMRA Good Beer Guide - but it would be very easy to do so. Found up a little backroad not far from Tintern Abbey in the Wye Valley, it would not be a pub you would simple drive by, spot and stop at. I actually wonder how these places exist and survive. But thankfully they do!

And the Cherry Tree Inn (http://www.thecherry.co.uk/) was a perfect little stop on our first day in Wales. It certainly stuck out in the Beer Guide, "a gravity-lover's delight" was enough to sell it to me, so off I went in search of this little beauty. Tucked away in what I suppose you could call a village, though it is only a collection of 10 or so houses, which are group around a little bubbling brook. With enough parking for a Combi and a small car we had to park ourselves up on road. The building itself is an interesting affair, with a little post office and grocery shop downstairs. Upstairs is a rambling pub with 3 distinct rooms (one a restaurant), and a large bar with two servicing areas. However, what I had come for was behind the bar. There sat 6 casks in all their glory, though unfortuantely only two were actually on. I had a pint of the Hancock's HB - it was OK, considering I later found out that it is brewed for the Coors Group by the Welsh brewery Brains. But you just can't beat a gravity fed pint from the cask, it is just so smooth in the mouth. I also ordered a half of the Slaters Premium, but this was the last of the cask and unfortunately it had gone off (which can happen when you are drinking real ale).

As lots of these pubs often do, the walls around the bar were also covered with used pump clips (which they obviously wouldn't be using seeing they serve the ale straight from the cask). Some brilliant beer names there though, my favourite being "Ernie Ales" - maybe an idea for you Stuey to market a beer to local golf clubs. Most surprising (and pleasing) though, as we had our lunch, was how busy the pub got. By the time we left there must have been 30 people in there, and this during the middle of the day on a Tuesday. So I could certainly see that this place was more than just surviving and it is one of the reasons I love the beer and pub culture over here.

A Wale(s) of a Time

Well, wouldn't you know, Wales is a great place. And you wouldn't know it unless you went there. No one seems to talk about it or recommend it - it seems to be a bit of a hidden gem - so was pretty happy to stumble upon it. It certainly wasn't a planned trip - a last minute decision to take the week off after Easter, hire a car, and go for a drive around the "land of our fathers" (well, theirs anyway).

So we jumped into our luxurious Peugeot 206 (actually, it was a piece of crap and would constantly give us scares by not wanting to start, typically after making a stop in the middle of nowhere) and headed out of London. We had no idea what we were going to do, just armed with map, a Lonely Planet last used in the Dark Ages (well, 2001), and the king of travel guides - the CAMRA Good Beer Guide. Somewhere en route on the M4 the first detour was devised, a trip up the Wye Valley to visit two interesting sites - the ruins of Tintern Abbey and the Cherry Tree Inn. This would become a theme for the two days as The TripMaster would devise routes around two of his passions - medieval ruins and back country pubs.

Wye Valley was pretty cool and in our post-Iceland photographathon, neither if us thought to take a picture. So you will just have to take my word for it - it was very picturesque. I have got a shot here of the Tintern Abbey though, which was also quite impressive. It was here that we first implemented our cunning plan to avoid paying the £3-£5 entry fees for such attractions by just walking around the outside of them. I always prefer the outsides anyway, the insides are usually not as impressive and often you get some garish attempt to replicate internal furnishings. After a pleasant walk around the Abbey, we spent lunch at attraction number two - though The Cherry Tree Inn was so good, it will get its own posting.

After Wye Valley, we headed off into Brecon Beacons National Park (via another castle ruin of course). Despite the tongue twisting nature of its name, we really liked the BBs. It was here that we also first saw the star attractions of our trip - the spring lambs. They were everywhere, green fields sprinkled with little white dots. It was good to see that at least someone in Britain understands that the purpose of a farm is to have animals on it - in sharp contrast to the fields in England, where the standard appears to be one cow or sheep per 100 acres of land. That day and the next morning we simply spent driving around the little country roads in the BBs, frequently getting lost, but frequently coming across great countryside vistas. It reminded me somewhat of the Yorkshire Dales, but also of the NZ rural countryside - though a lot more picturesque.










That night I also got introduced to another highlight of Wales - Welsh Black Beef. This was without doubt the best steak I have ever had - and it wasn't even a fillet cut (it was rib-eye). It just had a delicious smoky flavour to it and it was perfectly cooked to my rare order (which is rare in itself). This was followed by an enormous B&B breakfast the next morning - the biggest I have ever seen, and subsequently (of course), the biggest I have ever eaten.

Departing the BBs a kilo or two heavier, we headed off from one National Park to another, this time the Pembrokeshire Coast NP. And this probably topped the Brecon Beacons. Stunning scenery again, great castle ruins, and of course, cool pubs. We also managed to find ourselves a room at a B&B located on a farm in the middle of nowhere. The very Welsh lady who ran it was a hoot, I think she laughed more than she talked - which was just as well, as we couldn't understand half of what she said anyway. She set us up to go to a local pub where I could have, you guessed it, Welsh Black Beef, and also gave me directions to a pub I was most keen to track down - the Dyffryn Arms, which most definitely deserves its own post.


After a night on what must be the most uncomfortable and noisy bed I have slept on - beating the bunk bed in Dublin with half the slates missing and the squeak-machines we got at the San Luis Obispo hostel - we used our last day to drive up to Snowdonia National Park before heading back to London. More a whistle stop through Snowdonia, as we had to head back to London that night, but still got a good look around. Again, great scenery, yadda, yadda, yadda - I think you are getting the picture that we really like this country.
In all, 3 National Parks visited, 7 ruins, 9 pubs, 2 Welsh steaks, 1 million lambs, and 18 new beer ratings. Overall, an unexpected brilliant three days in Wales. I would have loved another couple of days and it would be great to get the opportunity to go back. I certainly recommend it to others.

For some more pics, click here.

The Land of Ice
....and this may sound stupid, but it really is icy!

Though the trip to far off Iceland didn't start too well. Anna and I (unwisely) decided to accept an invitation to a dinner party the night before our flight the next morning - and that it early next morning, with a taxi picking us up at 5am. Promising ourselves that we would excuse ourselves early, we failed miserably and finally got a taxi back home around the 2am region and very much worse for wear. So much so that we completely slept through our alarms at 4.15am, only to be woken up by the doorbell by the aforementioned 5am taxi! Slightly bewildered and very much hungover, it took me some 5 minutes to get The GrandMistress to realise the seriousness of the situation, at which point ensued a few well placed expletives and pointless scurrying. 15 minutes and two selectively missed calls from Brad & Shaz (who we were suppose to have picked up 20 minutes prior), we were finally on our way....

After a much less eventful flight we touch down in sunny Iceland. Well, maybe not so sunny. In fact, we were met but what could only be described as a blizzard - making for an interesting cowering sprint (more a warble really) to our hire cars. With such splendid weather there was only one thing to do really - head to the hot springs. And not just any hot springs, but the Blue Lagoon.

The next day we embarked on the Golden Circle - not much gold, but plenty of good scenery. Also gave us our first proper look of Iceland. Certainly is a bizarre place, very harsh and barren, a bit like a huge Tongario National Park. Was also struck by how much snow and ice there still was (which does sound stupid considering the name of the place).










Apart from just enjoying taking in the whole scenery thing, there would have to be two highlights for me. First was Thingvellir - or the Rift Valley. It is where the Eurasian tectonic plate is pulling away from the North Atlantic plate - at a few millimetres a year. As a history lesson as well, the valley was also the site of Iceland's first Althing - which was the first recorded parliament anywhere.

The other highlight was the Gulfoss falls - the largest volume falls in Europe. And there certainly is plenty of water plunging through it. Is a lot bigger than this picture gives it credit for. The other major site on the Golden Circle is the geysir. Also quite impressive, more so the regularity at which it goes off, about every 5 minutes like clock work. Makes for great watching as new tourists come along not realising they are standing in the path of the water and steam that is shot 30 odd metres into the air.

Deciding to make the most of what was a beautiful (if not cold) day, we decided to head on down to the Southern coast of Iceland. This gave us the chance to use our 4-wheel drives (thanks for the upgrades Mr Avis) to drive up to an arm of the Myrdalsjokull glacier. Being typically prepared in the Kiwi way, we decided to take a short hike up the glacier, complete with trainers, sunglasses, a couple of muesli bars and a discarded crampon we picked up on the way. Despite the odd harmless flurry of snow, we managed to avoid igniting any Search & Rescue missions and got to muck around on a glacier like you would never be able to do back in NZ (where I am sure there would be a barb-wired fence 100 metres out and some guy in a security uniform who has just graduated from school bully).

On our only other full day in Iceland, we drove up north along the western coast this time. Maybe not as dramatic as the previous day, but still plenty of inspiring scenery. It did also include an eventful search for lunch. A piece of advice for all of you, when touring around Iceland on Easter Sunday, take your own lunch!

After all this tourist stuff, there was only one more thing to do tick off the list for Iceland, and that was to go out on the town in Reykjavik - the locals being infamous for their party hard attitude. In a irony I have noticed in all Scandinavian countries, where alcohol is supposedly somewhat of a taboo (beer was only legalised in Iceland in 1989!), they seem to be the biggest pissheads I have even come across. With alcohol quite expensive (beer wasn't too bad at about £4-£5 a pint, wine and spirits was ridiculous expensive - the govt must be collecting a fair whack of duty), the Icelandic usually have house parties until about 1am before heading out to the pubs and clubs. So in an effort to fit in, we did the same, doing a good job of polishing off the remaining wine and spirits we smuggled in the country. Of course, it looks like we Kiwi's aren't as hardy as these Icelandic folk, as before we even ventured outside we had lost over half our crew. However, Anna, Brad, Si and I steadfastly headed out in the cold to see what the fuss was all about. First stop was to stand in the queue in front of Sircus - a very bohemian bar famous for being the local hangout of Bjork. Well, when we finally managed to get in, there certainly was a strange mix of people in there and we certainly stuck out. The locals get very dressed up to go out, and our dress-down approach certainly put the "outsider" sign up. Neverthess, it was a cool little spot (very Cuba Street-ish) and the music was good. On advise from a local, we moved on to another bar a little more upmarket. After another 15 minutes or so queueing in the very brisk Reykjavik air, we were again into a bar that was living up to the Icelandic reputation. Managed another couple of drinks in between making fun of the locals before finally heading back to the pad at about 4.30am. Apparently we were not the quietist and certainly not the wisest (consider we were suppose to be getting up at 8am for our flight!). But it was all very much worth the pain the next morning (well, later than morning, really) as would not have wanted to go all that way without experiencing the infamous Reykjavik nightlife.

All in all, a great trip. We did have thoughts of staying on another couple of days initially, but the 4 days we did have was perfect and we fitted in plenty in our time there. I didn't think it as expensive as the reputation it bears either. Things certainly cost more, but that much more, and because there isn't really a whole lot of things to spend your money on, I think it is probably one of the cheaper trips I've been on. Certainly makes a difference when all the tourist sights are free and you are not being fleeced as you are often are around continental Europe. It is hard to believe people live there though. It does feel like a very remote and harsh environment (top temperature in summer is 17 degrees) and there really doesn't seem like that much to do if you weren't a tourist. However, this remoteness and harshness is also quite stunning and I am glad I got the chance to see it. A couple more pics to sign off on; the first I think shows how small you can feel in this place (see what looks to be quite a large farm house dwarfed by its surroundings); the second of the crew on tour and all that whiteness!

For some more pics, click here.

The Eagle and Child (Oxford, England)
Or the "Bird and Babe" as the Inklings called it.

And what visit to Oxford would be complete without a visit to this pub. Famous for being the favourite drinking spot of the JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis, along with some other friends, as the self-titled Inklings. The pub is OK, but the attraction (well to this Tolkien nerd anyway) is to sit in the Rabbit Room, where Tolkien would read out his just written chapters of Lord of the Rings for feedback from his confidants.

Pub Watch: The Turf Tavern (Oxford, England)

A day trip was had last Sunday up to Oxford to catch up with Andy, who was down from Edinburgh for a few days. We caught up at The Turf Tavern (http://www.robofdoom.co.uk/turf/), which has the following reference in the CAMRA Good Beer Guide: "Tucked away between the old city wall and surrounding cottages, this famous pub is sought out by students, tourists and real ale lovers. Two bars with low ceilings supply up to 11 varying ales".

And well worth a visit it was. Plenty of ales on offer here, and plenty of ales were tasted. Half pints of Elgoods Cambridge Bitter, Cains Triple Hop, Wadworth JCB, White Horse Flibbertigibbet, and Skinners Hunny Bunny were had, with the Flibbertigibbet being especially good. Also had the Sunday roast - the pork was good, but the lamb looked mighty fine.

We enjoyed the great outdoor patios first, under the warming spring sun. But then we were sent inside by a freak hailstorm. Settled into a big table inside and met a young Cantabrian who was on a two-year exchange with the British Army. Anyway, before the hail, I managed to get some choice shots of this fine pub.

This shot is of the back entrance to the pub, you walk some a cobbled lane and turn into this corridor, which opens up into the pub's back patio.

The patio was great until the hail hit, and the front of the pub had plenty of character. The outside corridor you can see to the right was to another patio, but also access to the detached toilets.

So a superb place to spend an afternoon - not that it finished there of course!

THE PUFFY SHIRT...."I'm all puffed up!".
Free with Series 5 & 6.

THE Chalet!

The one-piece on tour....

The GrandMaster shrugged off the cape and mask for a week and donned the one-piece. And where better to take the one-piece than the French Alps. Morzine to be exact, just an hour drive from Geneva, but on the French side of the Alps. And what a week it was.

The chalet we had booked was quite superb, this is not a bad pic (which I couldn't add here, so have posted it separately above as a teaser - check it out). It was a tough life coming back from a day on the slopes, jumping straight into the outdoor spa, waiting to be called for our three-course banquet. Of course, someone's got to do it!

Now we had to build up a hunger for these three-course meals and we certainly did this on the slopes. Most of the crew were out on snowboards, but when wearing a one-piece, you must do as the one-pieces do. And that means ski.

We had absolutely amazing snow - the stuff over here is so powdery. And we certainly had a lot of it - the couple who ran our chalet said it was the best snow they had seen in the 5 or so years they had been there. I don't know if I will ever enjoy NZ slopes again.

Incredibly though, the one-piece didn't stick out as much as you would think - but then again, there is no accounting for the tastes of those europeans. Here are a couple of choice pics of the one-piece in action....

Of course, when looking so stylish, it is always easy to make new friends on the slopes. We even managed to get this frosty friend back to the pad, but unfortunately he lost his head....










For some more pics, click here.