TGT2.5: Tour de France Pt 3 Roman Holiday

After the subterranean journey under Paris it was time to board another TGV but from Gare de Lyon this time for the speedy journey south. We hopped on the early train and I will never tire of them. Everyone Australian who travels on the TGV in France then questions why on earth we don't have them in Australia and we were no exception. I blame Australian economists and their dodgy 1950s transport models which come up with "Boondoggle" every time. The whole railway experience gets me every time.  The huge latticed archways in the station, the lines of trains waiting to zoom off to different places, the cafes within metres of the tracks, the lugging of your bags on to the train, inadvertently giving someone a whack, the slightly maniacal check to make sure all members of TGT2.5 are on board. Love it.

The journey to the south was very pleasant indeed and passed uneventfully. We were headed south and it was a little bit of a mystery for us as we'd never been to the Mediterranean coast of France before.

We arrived and the endless European summer continued on. Even more so given how far south we'd travelled. The short trip from the train station to our charming little hotel in the old town, down a narrow street, left us completely drenched with sweat but by then TGT team were operating pretty smoothly, each with their own bag or two. Thank goodness for the air conditioning though. Of course TGT2.5:3 had identified the wifi password and entered it into his phone before we had even got our key. Can be very perceptive when he wants to be that one.

As previously mentioned Montpelier was a new city to us and it too had that slight street edge to it that made it sort of exciting. I continued to butcher the French language and TGT2.5:2 joined in occasionally at the supermarche. Not as badly as my sister when we journeyed to Paris in 1993. It was the only French she knew, as we wandered the less salubrious parts of town she started singing very loudly "Voulez vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?" (You may need to look it up?) Very proud of herself she was, however, she didn't stop to worry about she was actually saying. As her brother I felt slightly uncomfortable, but who was I to judge.

Montpelier is yet another Roman town and frankly it's a bit great too. We went for a wander later in the day and circumnavigated the old walled town, walking past the university which just happens to have the oldest medical course in the world that is still running. Got going in the 1100s it's said. Blimey, that's a fair chunk of history. TGT2.5:5 occasionally talks about becoming a doctor and it dawned on us that as an EU citizen she could attend the oldest medical university in the world if she chose. Slightly confounding that one. Took me a while for that to sink in. A slightly different heritage to my current employer Victoria University, not that there's anything wrong with that. From here, we headed up to the roman aquaduct (every town should have one) and their mini arc de triomphe, (again every town etc etc), before heading home via the street market (so French). A beautiful city and certainly sucked us in.

The next day we had organised to head to the town of Arles for the starting point of our Camargue Safari. Arles is where a certain Vincent van Gogh based himself for a couple of years and pumped out the odd painting or two I've been told. You might be familiar with a couple, Bedroom in Arles (bit wonky that one), the yellow house (sadly blown up in WW2), sunflowers. We didn't know his house had been blown up and confused ourselves silly for a while trying to work out on the map what we were looking at.

Arles is yet another ridiculously picturesque town in France coming fully equipped with a Roman amphitheatre and arena, both still in working order (we watched the end of a mock gladiator battle in the arena- tell you what, tough gig that one, even with wooden swords). They also have an extraordinary street market that's over 3kms long. C'est fantastique. After buying a few yummy nibbles we went to meet our next appointment, a 3 hour 4WD tour of the Camargue. This was one of TGT2.5:5's requests about our trip to France as it had 2 key things: horseys and flamingoes.

Sometimes ignorance is a wonderful thing as it makes things so much more interesting when the ignorance is brushed away. When you sit, watch and listen for a bit. Our fascinating guide, Veronique (it wasn't Veronique, but I can't remember her name and that sounds suitably French), was a local lass who spent half her time teaching French in Africa to primary school kids, the rest of the time she does guided tours around the Camargue. She also spoke a bit of Provencal which was a new one to me (sort of halfway between French and Italian in a completely unsatisfactory approximation that will no doubt offend everyone). When we booked the trip to see the Camargue I knew it was a national park of sorts and that there were horses running around and assumed it was similar to the ones in Australia. Hmmm, well no. A very different concept of national park as most of the area was actively being farmed but only for certain things. The horses, for example, were all farmed but they were a breed apart, have distinct colouring as well as being adapted to the wetland conditions of the Camargue, eg they can close their nostrils and eat under water. Quite stubborn too apparently. We stopped by the roadside a couple of times to have a pat. Lovely creatures. TGT2.5:5 was extremely happy. There are also Camargue cows and bulls, again a distinct breed. There is also Camargue rice would you believe, brought over by the Romans, a distinct breed and now only grown in that region. In fact, I think it's the only part of France that grows rice. The farmers share the water through an elaborate system of channels and gates at certain times. The channels are the same ones the Romans put in place. What have the Romans ever done for us?

All these things were completely new to us as well as the fact they still do bullfights which stopped us in our tracks for a bit. Veronique was unapologetic. "You don't like it, we do. Pfft" They also have a slightly less bloodthirsty sport particular just to the Camargue where the bulls have a rosette attached on the bull's forehead and the game, should you be so foolish to try, is to grab the rosette off the bull before getting skewered. Extremely popular. WTF!?!?! And the hero is never the person who grabs the rosette but rather the bull who stops the poor fools doing so and skewers them in the process. We even got to see (well we think we did, they all look the same to us) the most famous bull of them all, the one with Number 55 branded on him was the champion 3 years running and now there's a statue of him in Saintes Maries de la Mer, and he sits out the rest of his days chewing the cud in a field. Veronique was very proud of him.

After Sainte Maries de la Mer we saw a flock of flamingoes and TGT2.5:5 was very satisfied indeed. Veronique said they do not mate for life, only for one year. I whispered to TGT2.5:3, "Just like the French!" but before I had finished my sentence Veronique said. "And do not zay just like zee French,  Hoh hoh hoh hoh!!!"

Tres bon!

We headed back to Arles before catching the train back to Montpelier for the night and it was back on the train the next day to head to Carcassonne. Carcassone was TGT2.5:2's choice and what a fine choice it was too. I thought it was just a board game. Aha more ignorance which made the joy of discovery all the more delightful. Not only that but unbeknownst to us until we arrived, we had timed our run to the walled city perfectly because as we arrived the finish of another Tour de France rolled into town. Again TGT2.5:4 and I headed to the finish line but this time we had arrived too late and had to settle for the 400m mark. Still made plenty of noise banging on the boards as they raced through. Poor suckers who roll in 15-20 mins after the finish don't get quite the same kudos.

Then it was time to settle into our AirBNB literally at the base of the medieval walls. So explore the walled city we did. But before that, we had to check out the extraordinary artwork painted on to the walls. Very difficult to describe but TGT2.5:2 took numerous pictures. We had a guided tour by Amelie (that really was her name, easy to remember). She was another local to the area but I swear she looked Spanish. This was not surprising as she considered herself a citizen of Occitania which covered a bit of the Spanish side of the Pyrenees. (Probably got that wrong). Anyhoo she looked a bit Spanish to me. Amelie was very entertaining and kept banging on about the 13th century as that's when everything changed for Carcassonne. It was sold from one rich fella to another. How do you sell a whole city? It became a military town after that and the walls were built up to their current impressive height. The Romans, (remember them?) had already built up sizeable walls (still standing) but they added to them and it's no great surprise this town was never taken in a siege. The old narrow streets were completely captivating and TGT2.5:2 and I left the kids at home that evening to go for an indulgent drink or two by ourselves in one of the stunning squares.

From Carcassonne we were leaving behind Roman towns and heading towards Tour de France mountains and Gallic presidents.

TGT2.5 Tour de France Pt 2: Sentimental and Squeamish

It was up early for a train to Amiens in Northern France where we were to begin, in essence, our own Le Tour de France which was to include visits to some World War 1 and 2 battlefields which was the thing TGT2.5:3 chose when he was asked about his preferred activity in France.

After arriving in Amiens and dumping our bags in the hotel, we immediately took a taxi out to the new interactive Australian War Memorial at Villers Brettoneux. When Tony Abbott was PM he pumped a slightly obscene $100 mill into making this war memorial and no doubt it's tastefully done but the continuing deification of the whole ANZAC thing does leave me with somewhat mixed emotions. Our primary reason was to have a look at the fields where my grandfather, Herbert Champion Hosking, as a 21-year-old was in the front line as a Lieutenant in the 10th Battalion. This was after he'd previously landed at Gallipoli on the morning the April 25 landings. He got shell shock at Gallipoli, was sent back to Adelaide but they thought he was orright so they sent him back to the Western Front where he was involved in the Battle of the Somme. Bit rough if you ask me. Somehow he survived that too but another case of shell shock sent home for good.

The Villers Brettoneux museum was interesting and very interactive (too interactive for my poorly functioning phone, you need one by the way if you go), especially good for children to get a sense of what life and the impact and destruction of war can bring. The3D battlefield reenactment was particularly powerful. The cemetery and stone memorial with accompanying tower was put in place after WW1 and actually fighting took place there in WW2 with the bullet holes still clearly visible.  In the tower we bumped into some other Australians who were there as part of a professional development trip as they were history teachers. It certainly is still a place many Australians feel compelled to visit. Us included of course. It was very hard to imagine the calm fields with corn and wheat swaying gently in the breeze being the location of the industrial scale slaughter of people. Even as I write this a couple of months later, it still doesn't seem real. The rows and rows and rows of crosses for each grave and many an unknown soldier, difficult to fathom.

Amiens was a surprise but only because we are ignorant. The cathedral is extraordinary and kind of sneaks up on you because you can't really see it till you wander around a corner close to the building. There is still evidence of WW1 everywhere with photos all about the town and cathedral. Apparently many an ANZAC wandered through and there is a photo outside the cathedral of them on parade. Inside they really did know how to throw some rocks together to whack up an impressive structure so we had a brief wander around despite the protestations of TGT2.5:3 about "Another bloody cathedral!". (These protests were to get louder and more determined as TGT progressed).  We wandered around the inside admiring the extraordinary space and occasionally stopping to inspect one of the many photos from The Great War including one where both the inside and the outside of the cathedral were filled with sandbags. Apparently, during the war, the Bishop of Amiens contacted the Pope to have a quiet word with the Germans to please not bomb the cathedral when they were getting a bit close for comfort. The Germans agreed. Civilised war. Hmmmm.
Suddenly amongst all these photos of destruction, an extraordinary voice rang out as a soloist was practicing for a service to be held later. She was singing Ave Maria in a voice both breathtaking and beautiful. Now I'm no Christian, and I'm no singing expert but this was something quite astonishing and we were very lucky to experience it.

We headed to Roubaix the next day for a bit of Tour de France action. Cycling that is. We stayed in our first AirBNB for the trip. It was actually fantastic staying in the upper floor of a lovely building with a charming French couple and their 3-year-old son. Due to TGT2.5:2's organisational brilliance, it turned out we were on the finishing course of the route at almost exactly the red kite (1km to go). TGT2.5:2,3 and 5 stayed behind to watch the muscle and sinew on carbon fibre and rubber fly past the house while TGT2.5:4 and I headed to the finish line beside the famous Roubaix velodrome to soak up the atmosphere and glimpse the action. Quite the party atmosphere and glimpse was the right word and even though TGT2.5:4 was sitting on my shoulders with camera ready in hand, he didn't capture the winning sprint as they simply went past us too quickly. To finish the day off we watched the French win the World Cup final on a big screen at the Roubaix Velodrome. Now that was a party atmosphere.

The next day we hired a car and headed into Belgium, Ypres or Ieper, to be precise for some more WW1 history. The photos of the town at the end of the WW1 are difficult to believe. It was practically flattened including the cathedral (no such deal with the Germans there) and the famous Cloth Hall. But you wouldn't know it as they were rebuilt brick by brick and it now appears as it did before WW1. They did a remarkable job rebuilding Ypres and it turns out the ANZACs are still favorably remembered there as well. Ypres is home to Menin Gate where they play the Last Post every night of the year at 8pm. It being no particularly special occasion, I was expecting maybe a dozen people to be there. Hundreds!!! If not a thousand. An incredibly touching experience. The night we were there it was the turn of some Kiwis to lay wreaths. The gate itself is inscribed with the soldiers who have no graves. Lots of them. I mean a LOT!

To continue the war theme, we went to a still existing trench at Hill 66 before heading to Dunkirk. Now I've known about Dunkirk for as long as I can remember but it was only really the movie which drummed into my thick skull what an extraordinary achievement it was to get 350,000 troops off the beach and much credit must go the Cheese Eating Surrender monkeys for keeping the Germans at bay. We wandered down to the beach and had a swim in the Channel before coming back later in the evening low tide to wander in amongst the skeletal remains of some of the bombed ships that are still there 78 years later. Some magical photos by TGT2.5:2, 4, and 5 and a memorable way to spend TGT2.5:3's 14th birthday.

The next day it was a visit to Flanders Fields where the Canadian Doctor who wrote the poem was stationed for some considerable time. So many graves everywhere we went. After that, it was back to Paris after returning the car at the surprising large city of Lille. I had survived my first few days of driving on the right-hand side of the road but till that point, the roads weren't too narrow so I didn't do too badly. The narrow roads and associated freaking out was later in the Le Tour.

Another TGV back to Paris and this time staying a bit further out in Clichy, the beginning of the suburbs. Tell you what Paris is a little bit different out there. Not so glamorous. A tad edgy you might even say. TGT2.5:2 and I went for a jog along the Seine near Zac des Docks and frankly it was very unglamorous indeed. Paris, Asian city. Good to see even such a glamorous place as Gay Paris is a bit rough around the edges.
On this, our second stay in Paris we went to the Catacombs which we'd never been to before. It seems TGT2.5:2 just can't stop herself going underground in Paris. Not poo this time but lots of bodies. Just weird and for me, frankly a bit unnerving. So many bones and skulls. I had to consciously tell myself not to think of them as people as otherwise, I would have freaked the hell out. TGT2.5:4 was with me on that one as he started to freak out a bit too. To make pretty patterns with skulls and thigh bones was all just a bit too disturbing for me and I confess the combination of bazillion human remains, claustrophobic and muggy atmosphere was starting to take its toll on me and I was very glad to get the hell out by the end. It's fascinating, but unlike Le Tour Eiffel I won't be doing that again. The other members of TGT seemed to cope with it much better than me, including TGT2.5:5 who finds such things endlessly interesting and is not the slightest bit squeamish about it. Ask her to eat lasagne though......

We also made a trip to Ile de la Cite and went past Notre Dame but not in as the queues were enormous and anyway we'd just been in the Amiens Cathedral and this little black duck couldn't tell the difference. We were headed for the finest ice cream shop in Paris where we'd visited 7 years previously. It had obviously got a bit more popular in the intervening period as now it had opened up a 2nd store across the road. Yum

We then headed to our final Paris destination, Sacre Coeur and the little vineyard on the northern side of the hill. Remarkable view and I still can't believe the kids haven't watch Amelie yet. Must do something about that.

Anyhoo it was an early TGV the next day to Montpellier so we needed our sleep.

The south was beckoning!

TGT2.5: Goodbye London. Hello Tour de France pt 1

Well, after Cornwall we headed back to London and stayed with my old boss from my teaching days, Rani and her other half Graeme in Tufnell Park.
Now Rani is possibly the world's best cook and Graeme used to work at Lords. Consequently, it's always a delight staying in Tufnell Park for both the food and the back lawn. A  few years back when they relaid the turf at Lords, Graeme said, "I'll have a bit of that" and their backyard now features some of the hallowed turf. Nice
Rani and Graeme were super generous as always and we were treated particularly well. Another home away from home. Got a few of those in London now.
So in our last couple of days we did a couple of things including visiting the Cabinet War Rooms. We went there in 2005 and it was pretty interesting then but now it's expanded into some sort of a shrine to Winston Churchill. Now I might cop a bit of flak about this but as far as I'm concerned the jury is still out on our Winston. He managed to stuff up quite a few things. The Gold standard comes to mind. Anyone heard of Gallipoli? Happy letting Gandhi starve to death too, didn't mind a bit of chemical warfare either.
Anyhoo, only Gallipoli got a brief mention. Very interesting nonetheless and the start of our war history focus (more on that later). Completely fascinating place, especially teh way they just walked out and closed the door at the end of the war and left it. Only decades later did people open it up again and find the place undisturbed, even down to 3 emergency sugar cubs left on one desk.
After that we headed to The Serpentine Lake in Hyde Park, to catch up with one of TGT2.5:4's friends, Max, and his mum and dad who were coming to the end of their own Grand Tour.
It was another feverishly hot day in London and after a bit of a snack, we headed over to the Princess Diana memorial fountain which is a pretty ace place for kids to play in the water. When I say kids, I mean me of course. Oh yes and TGT2.5:3-5 as well. Wonderful spot. Fitting memorial seeing so many children enjoying themselves and I think Diana would still be proud.
It was back to Rani and Graeme's for a final dinner at a friend of their's restaurant and along tagged their son Nick who also works for Lords. It just happened to be the same restaurant where Rani had organised my farewell after teaching for 3 years in 2005. It was at that farewell dinner that they presented me a Lords cricket bat Graeme had grabbed off the shelf from the Lord's shop and got everyone's favourite bogan leg-spinner, Shane Warne to sign it for me. A fine gift that one. The restaurant hadn't changed at all, including the food which was sublime and the very friendly and welcoming owners. Almost as good as Rani's.
The next day we were headed to France on the Eurostar from St Pancras travelling at a very smooth 300km/h . Now the only time St Pancras station is mentioned in the same breath as Stansted airport it is usually separated by words like "thank effing god" and "nothing like that sh*thole".  Given it was Stansted that was the last jumping off point for us, it was a welcome change I can tell you 
Very civilised way to travel.
We caught the early afternoon train and Rani and Graeme tagged along to farewell us and due to my encouragement we all began to practice our extensive French which mostly consisted of  laughing like the French (see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-r7dveDEv-I)
We said farewell to Ole Blighty and we arrived at Gare du Nord to begin our own Tour De France at precisely the same time as TGT2.5:2's ridiculous overestimation of my level of French fluency kicked in: "Go and order us a coffee", "Ask where the Left Bank is", "Go discuss post-modernism"
Right
Doesn't matter how many times I tell her I only studied French up to Year 9 and even that was by distance education, she never gets it.
Seriously
However, it didn't stop me having a crack. I'm sure I gave the Frogs a few giggles with my butchery of their language. "Une biere sil vous plait"
It was at this point TGT2.5:2 described me as existing in a binary state much like a computer: I am either irritatingly funny or simply irritating.
Fair enough.
Anyhoo TGT2.5:2 very sensibly booked a wonky hotel a very short walk from Gare du Nord. I love those wonky Parisian hotels. The sort where no corridor is wider than your shoulders and the corridors resemble a slalom course, with elevators built for hobbits. What I don't love so much is the public urination. Nor the fact you have to pay 80 cents to have a wee everywhere you go. Who knows, perhaps the two are related? This brings me to another controversial comment: Paris is an Asian city.
WTAF I hear you say.
Well, as we strolled the streets of the City of Lights it had the sort of street life and full-bodied aromas I usually associate with Asian cities. While the buildings are simply breathtaking, the degree that life is lived on the street makes Paris fascinating.
Now the last time we were in Paris the first thing we did was head straight to the Sewer museum. Now this has led TGT2.5:2 to be the object of many jokes in the subsequent years so I believe she was careful to not repeat.the same experience.
So instead of looking at what the Parisians do with their poo, we headed to the Musee d'Orsay to see what they did with their art. Not so much humour value there but plenty of kulcha. I do like the fact it used to be a railway station. I wonder if Seddon Station will end up like that?
So after that we headed to the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs Elysee.
We tried to capture a Beatles zebra crossing photo as the kids crossed the Champs Elysee with the Arc de Triomphe in the background with mixed success. We did almost get TGT2.5:5 run over though. So to recover we headed straight to a street crepe stall. I never thought I'd say this but there was too much Nutella in the crepe.
Before we left for TGT2.5 we asked each of the kids if there was anything, in particular, they would like to do in Europe and TGT2.5:5 said she wanted to go to a fancy restaurant in Paris. Now that was a bit of a surprise as TGT2.5:5 has a somewhat limited palate. Let's face it, she's a beige-a-tarian.
Anyhoo we headed to the Angelina cafe, frequented for many years by lots of luminaries such as Coco Chanel. So definitely a bit posh but not too posh. Now TGT2.5:2 didn't warn me that we were heading for a posh place that day (I thought we were just going for an ice cream) and I was adorned in my bright red t-shirt with "The Goodies" written on it in bright yellow letters. So obviously classy. Despite feeling particularly uncomfortable it was not me who caused the most of the embarrassment to TGT clan. It was TGT2.5:3-4 who were particularly raucous and unruly, even to the point where TGT2.5:5 asked:
"Was it a good idea to bring them?"
Ahh yes, wise words from the young one. And as for her limited diet, it was not so limited when it comes to desserts and in particular macarons so TGR2.5:5 had a good sugary feast.
The next day included a trip to Le Tour Eiffel. That's probably 5 times I've been up that cast iron pointy thing and it's still amazing after all those times. It's pretty spectacular up the top even if it gets a tad windy and wobbly which does nothing for my sensible fear of heights. Now you think the French would be a tad sensitive about their special tower and doing anything on it. So of all the members of TGT, it was a bit of a surprise it was TGT2.5:2 who wanted to fly a paper plane from the top. It was only after some shocked begging from myself that the supposedly responsible TGT2.5:2 was dissuaded from the notion. Crazy woman.
It was a boat along the Seine after that which in itself was pretty spectacular and then back after a long day to watch the French win a World Cup Semi Final.
Now that was a noisy evening.
It was then time to head north to some World War 1 battlefields and the other Tour de France, not ours.

The Grand Tour 2.5: Episode 6 Nerve Agents, Farmers, Druids, Pirates, Monkeys!!! I love Cornwall

Aaaaggghhhhh ‘em be pirates, ‘em be!!!

Let’s get my allegiances out of the way first, I love Cornwall. Ticks a few of my boxes:

• ·         Family history
• ·         Hopeless underdog fight for independence (as evidenced by the Cornish Flag being flown everywhere)
• ·         Celtic
• ·         Essentially dead language trying to be revived
• ·         Stunning fishing villages
• ·         Best weather in the UK
• ·         Hilarious accent (that don’t pat dogs, they “smoooooooth ‘em”
• ·         Pirates!

What could you possibly not like?

Well, there is one downside, the clowns voted for Brexit! Go figure.

To get to the ancestral homeland we had to go via a clump of rocks, otherwise known as Stone Henge. We hired a car again (this time at a reasonable hour and in a reasonable direction from Shepherds Bush, we’d done this one before) and headed towards Novichok.

Wait, what?

Turns out we were headed straight to the town where 2 poor souls either had just been poisoned by one of the deadliest nerve agents in existence. We were a bit confused as we drove into Amesbury why there were all these streets were blocked off by the coppers but thought nothing of it until the next day when it was all over the news. Sadly one of the people has subsequently died. I blame Trump’s best mate.

We didn’t know anything of this as we arrived at the big, old pile of rocks. We thought the visitor centre was pretty big 15 years ago when we came before kids but now it is a small town. Extraordinary. And not one druid to be seen. Though clearly there were quite a few who were itching to get the robes on. They’ve changed it now so the centre is about a 1km walk from the rubble and you can either catch a minibus or walk up over the hill to come to them. We walked. Much like puppies, TGT2.5:3-5 need regular exercise. If not, then they tend to start to eat each other. This has been a not infrequent experience on this trip. If we could hose them down we would.

It was a very pleasant way to approach the boulders and I had forgotten that they were only handed over to the government 100 years ago and in that time they had been propped up with a few squirts of concrete to stop some of them toppling over, I’m sure much to the horror of conservationists now as they were a bit cumbersome about it. This is the sort of Pareto Rule approach I probably would have taken which is why it’s a good thing I don’t look after historical objects. So after we got the kids to put their robes on and sacrificed a goat at sunset on the high altar we headed back to the car for we had an appointment at Monkey World we weren’t going to miss: TGT2.5:3 was going to find a new friend but first a quick visit to another old thing, the Magna Carta, inside another old thing, Salisbury Cathedral.

TGT2.5:3: “Do we have to go in ANOTHER cathedral?!??!? I really don’t want to. I’m NOT a Christian”

TGT2.5:1-2: “Yes we do. We know you’re not a Christian but please try to show some appreciation of the architecture, cultural heritage BLAH BLAH BLAH”

Yet another parent fail.

Since when do 13-year-olds appreciate this stuff? Just shut up kid and move on. We had lunch in the grounds of the cathedral but didn’t have a knife to cut our tomatoes or cheese for our sandwiches. That meant I had to nick one from the cathedral café. Does that mean I’m going to hell? Probably just confirmation.

Monkey World isn’t a zoo as such, it’s a rescue centre for primates from all over the world as Far away as Chile (the military helped evacuate about 30 monkeys from a lab to the UK). They pretty much take any and help give their lives back. To our astonishment, it is legal to buy and own a squirrel and capuchin monkeys and people do on eBay here in the UK. They chuck them in a cage and watch them go absolutely loony. There were lots of ex-laboratory monkeys with a few remnant twitches and OCD behaviours which isn’t surprising when you spend the first half of your life in a metal cage with humans poking you. Not surprisingly a lot of these guys have a fairly dim view of humans, but amazingly lots of hearts of gold and develop really warm relationships with the staff. A few chimpanzees have been like that. There used to be lots of chimps in Spain being used as props for photo shoots and being “managed” with sticks and cigarette burns. It took them 20 years but Monkey World has prevented chimpanzees being treated like this in Spain anymore.

TGT2.5:3 did make a few furry friends. There was one chimp who was banging away at his drums in a way eerily similar to the way TGT2.5:3 does and yet again, he staggered us with his extraordinary knowledge of all things animal in a non-smart alec way. Remarkable.

Our guide offered him a job!!!!

After that, it was time to head to Swanage (exactly! Where?), to camp in some farmer’s field. We should clarify, grumpy farmer’s field. A practically empty field about 3 acres in size but he wanted to move us as we put up our tents next to the powered sites (which were empty and we hadn’t hooked up). Almost Monty Pythonesque in his approach: “This isn’t an argument!!!”

I have made it a policy to be extremely accommodating and friendly on this trip and it has been met with a similar response from all we have encountered. Except for this time! Man, I wanted to smash this old git. Thankfully TGT2.5:2 instantly picked up my raised hackles and stepped in to smooth things over and pacify the octogenarian before he gave himself a heart attack. I bet he voted for Brexit too.

We didn’t move our tents.

In fact TGT2.5:2 and myself have been very good at the yin and yang stuff on this trip. Often swapping roles but overall complementing each other well and stepping in when needed to cover the other’s moment of madness. Of course, we have had a few tiffs. Mostly about buying another bottle of wine (TGT2.5:2 against)

We headed to Swanage and yet another Ship Inn (TGT2.5:2:“They must be a chain”. Ahhhhh no, they would be the West Country Coast version of The Red Lion, every town has one).

The next day we headed to Lyme Regis to hunt for fossils on the Jurassic Coast (pleasingly found a few ammonites). We met one fossil hunting fella (we knew he was by his t-shirt “Keep Calm and Hunt Fossils”.) Very knowledgeable and friendly chap. He showed us the ammonites we had in our hands but didn’t know and then filled our pockets with rocks with potential other ammonites like we haven’t had issues with excess luggage before!!
Then on to Axminster to have a coffee at River Cottage Canteen. Despite my efforts HFW didn’t reply to my invitation to discuss the urban agriculture model a colleague and I published last year. Rude

Nevertheless, lovely to visit. Then on to Cornwall and the ancestral home.

A quick summary. The first Symons to come to Australia was Johnson Bennett Symons in 1866 (yes, that is why TGT2.5:3 got his name). He travelled with his missus from his home village of Tywardreath to Plymouth to catch the ship, the Salamanca, from Plymouth to South Australia. Wallaroo, in Little Cornwall, to be precise, to continue his copper mining ways. My mother’s side, Hosking, are also Cornish folk, so whenever I cross the Tamar to enter the Land of St Piran, I feel a bit like I’m coming home.

There were other ancestors who came from other parts of ole blighty, including the 2 convicts, but the Cornish folk are the ones who resonate. There was even one who was a coast guard who died at sea chasing pirates apparently. Aaaaggghhhh, me hearties.

We camped at Carlyon Bay Caravan Park near St Austell and near the surprising Charlestown. I’d never heard of it, but it has featured heavily in various period dramas and in Poldark especially. A truly remarkable old stone harbour and really, really charming.

We then headed out to the Eden Project which is several hug geodesic domes with different ecosystems in each one. Perhaps an option for the La Trobe valley?  A beautiful place with amazing plants and conservation ideas and TGT2.5:3-5 were quite engaged which I wasn't prepared for.

There were visits to fishing villages and ye olde pubs and all timed so that they fitted in with the World Cup matches. We watched Belgium knock out Brazil while sitting in the Smugglers Bar of the Fountain Inn (400 years old) in Mevagissey. Old oak beams and plaster walls where I had to duck my head to get in the door. (Well mostly remembered to duck. I have this issue about the size of my head.) I thought the poms would like to see Brazil get knocked out but apparently not.

We ended up in Tywardreath (no idea how to pronounce it despite my obvious Cornishness) and wandered around the cemetery looking for the graves of Symons. It was also where TGT2.5:2 and I had been 15 years before where TGT2.5:2 picked up a tent someone had left behind in the graveyard which I think we are still using. I felt a bit dodgy about it then and still do to this day. Odd woman, TGT2.5:2, very moral and upstanding citizen nearly all of the time and then BAM, batshit crazy stealing stuff. Weird. Anyhoo, we then had a drink in The New Inn (1751 and chatted with the owner who was a local lad and showed us photos from the 1860s with lots of Symons and Bennetts (was JBS’s mother’s maiden name). We were getting a bit carried away and next thing I knew TGT2.5:2 and TGT2.5:4 were jumping the fence of St Blazey Church like hoodlums looking for more gravestones.

So after a wonderful few days we had done most of the things we wanted to do except TGT2.5:2’s extreme desire to have some quality clotted cream. For that we had to journey to a remote tea room down a side road of a side road of a side road beside a stream in an apple orchard. Truth be told it was pretty delightful and worth the detour but it was a race against time and London traffic to rush back to Shepherds Bush in time to watch England and Sweden. The less said about that the better.

However getting back in time we had to zoom along the motorways. In England they absolutely effing fang. Not quite used to that and it’s like a racetrack out there. Never changed lanes so many times in my life. Back to London for a couple of days staying with my old boss Rani, in Tufnell Park. More soon.

The Grand Tour 2.5: Episode 5 Scotland: JK Rowling flies Ryanair

Edinburgh

One of the surprising things about flying with Ryanair is coming to the realisation that you have actually decided to fly with them given the numerous human rights abuses they come up with every flight, eg approximately 2cm³ of space, instant coffee £4! And recently bleeding ears apparently!??!?!

So it was all the more surprising to discover JK Rowling sitting beside TGT2.5:2 as we were taking off. Mind you I wasn’t completely convinced until she started talking about having lived in Edinburgh, coming from Spain, visiting her only daughter etc etc. TGT2.5:2 was clearly on to it as well and was buttering up JK for an autograph, possibly a place to stay and definitely a few spare million quid.

Turns out it wasn’t JK Rowling……. I think.

Tell you what though, the Ryanair pilots must have to develop a sense of humour though:

“Good afternoon everyone, this is your captain speaking. Welcome to Edinburgh. You may now disembark from both the front and back doors of the plane, and remember to walk around the wing, NOT UNDER the wing. That’s AROUND the wing, NOT UNDER the wing”.

I wonder how many times that’s happened that the pilot feels he needs to say it?

“Oh Charles, I really have to get another job, some buffoon backpacker has just walked into the jet engine again”

The flight was uneventful enough though TGT2.5:3-5 did struggle with the lack of touch screens in front of them. They were seen forlornly swiping the Safety sign on the back of the plastic headrest in front of them.

We were heading to visit our friends Brett and Erica and their daughter Tilly. Brett also goes by the name Zorgatron, Destroyer of Cats, a misquoted Larson cartoon reference. Zorg and I were at Melb Uni together and are now part of a 3 person intercontinental footy tipping competition modestly called the “Sports Lord Series” which has been going since 1997, interrupted for only one year for TGT1. I have won several times but am going through a Carlton period at the moment. It’s worth preserving though as the trophy is a brick stolen from the old Southern Stand at the MCG as it was being demolished in the 1990s.

Zorg and Erica have bought themselves an extremely nice place in Morningside a few kms to the south of the old town. Zorg and Erica have excelled themselves in the garden too, putting in some decking, a shed and some raised garden beds in such an incredibly professional manner at their first attempt that I presumed it was work done by tradies. Chapeau Zorg chapeau.

Edinburgh really is an extremely pleasant place. We had a walk up the hill behind their house which backs on to and looked out over one of the curiously large number of golf courses in Edinburgh. They seem to like golf in Scotland. Stunning views. Apparently, some golf courses let you take the kids sledding on their courses when it snows and then invite you in for a cup of hot chocolate afterwards. Extremely civilised.

We wandered into town through the Meadows in glorious sunshine and thought to ourselves, “We could live here”. Mind you this assessment was influenced by the weather which has been absurdly unseasonal. We had to put sunscreen on, IN SCOTLAND! That ain’t right. In fact, the weather for the entire trip so far has been unnervingly warm and dry. For the moment I’m not thinking about it.

As TGT2.5:5 has repeatedly explained to me the central importance of Harry Potter to all things in the universe and because JK Rowling (the real JK Rowling) was living in Edinburgh when she wrote most of the books and got a lot of inspiration from Edinburgh, we had to go on a Harry Potter Walk.

We wandered down to the designated meeting place but found it hard to find room on the footpath due to a large number of people milling about. Surely these couple of hundred people weren’t waiting for the Harry Potter tour? Turns out they were. We spent the next couple of hours visiting various place of inspiration and the coffee shop where she did her scribbling. TGT2.5:4 and TGT2.5:5 wormed their way forward and stood beside the guide for the entire one and a half hours.

We visited the real Tom Riddell’s grave in a local cemetery and we got a photo of TGT2.5:4 and TGT2.5:5 standing beside the grave with TGT2.5:5 doing her special Voldemort’s nose trick. As we wandered down through the cemetery Edinburgh castle loomed up above us with the near vertical stands that are temporarily constructed for the Edinburgh Tattoo. TGT2.5:5 said half to herself, half to the tour guide, “that looks like a Quidditch stadium”. Turns out TGT2.5:5 thinks like JK Rowling as that was where she got inspiration for the Quidditch stadium. We visited the curved street that leads down to the Grassmarket which was the inspiration for Diagon Alley and even cast a spell en masse with the handed out wands to change the traffic lights from red to green. Excellent stuff.

It was all round a pretty fun tour and TGT2.5:4, 5 were most pleased. Even TGT2.5:3 got into a bit after he got past calling it “cringe”. Only a bit though, he is nearly 14 after all. We also had coffee in JK Rowling’s brother in law’s café (where she wrote the Philosopher’s Stone”). Brett and Erica, being locals, were a bit surprised by the level of Harry Potter bits and bobs in Edinburgh. More of a tourist thing I suppose.

After the tour TGT2.5:2 found a family history office in Diagon Alley and she subsequently found out she has a few famous relatives. The poet Nan Shepherd was a cousin of some sort (currently appearing on the Scottish £5 note) and we subsequently discovered Sir Alexander Henderson Diack was also a great Uncle of some sort. In fact we found out Sir Alex had a portrait in the national portrait gallery so off we trooped to the New Town and yet another beautiful building of the Scottish National Portrait Gallery. A very helpful person at the information desk informed us that yes indeed the National Portrait Gallery had Sir Alex but he was in one of their other buildings. Oh yes and which one is that? London. Ahhhh. Perhaps another time.

On the way into town one day we stopped for a late breakfast in a greasy spoon café called the “Quick and Plenty Café”. The food was, well, quick and there was plenty of it. I’ve always had a soft spot for greasy spoon cafes and this was no exception. A dying breed in London and good to see Edinburgh keeping up the good fight. We did manage to resist anything deep fried. That will have to be the next visit to Scotland.

Other excursions in Edinburgh included the Royal Mile including placing the children’s heads in the Camera Obscura box to make them look shrunk. I couldn’t tell the difference myself. Also, we ventured into the Scottish Museum which is yet another beautiful building.

We took advantage of the fact TGT2.5:3 is almost responsible and looked after TGT2.5:4, 5 and Tilly so the grownups got to go for a drink at a local pub chock full of character. The sort of place where the previous owner put up signs including “No backpackers!” Fair enough I reckon.

It was then time say our farewells to the incredibly generous Zorg, Erica and Tilly who spoiled us rotten and head north to Dundee where we could continue our couch surfing. Off to Waverley train station for a trip across the Firth of Forth. The only bummer of crossing that amazing bridge is that you can’t see the bridge because you’re essentially inside it. Anyhoo, we made it to Dundee for the first ever time and were met by Natalie, another Melb Uni friend (they really do get everywhere). Natalie and her partner Tom work at St Andrews Uni. They are the smart ones whose PhDs really are too difficult for a pleb like me to understand. The 80,000 words of my PhD could be summed with “Blah blah blah, well, maybe”, whereas theirs are much more difficult and use big words about French art and English literature and stuff. They are so clever they taught Prince William and Kate when they were at St Andrews.

They have managed to find the only modernist house in Dundee. It’s a pretty remarkable place and very distinctive. Tom’s study has possibly the largest window in all of Scotland looking out across the Firth of Tay. An extraordinary view. Sadly for them we managed to squash a few of their flowers playing soccer.

We did just a few things when in Dundee for a couple of days. We went for a lovely walk along the Tay to Broughty Beach Castle (every beach should have a castle) as well as visiting the Antarctic museum where the ship that carried Captain Scott and crew to the south has been set up on permanent display. Sadly the newly built V&A in Dundee was not quite ready to be opened but it looks pretty impressive.

It wasn’t a long enough stay with Natalie and Tom but there are so many people to see and things to do so we headed back to Edinburgh and the airport to renew ourselves with Ryanair. This time with approximately 7 hours before our flight left!!!! Ryanair did us a favour though as after we took off we swung around to get a perfect view of the Firth of Forth rail bridge. Absolutely stunning.

Planes trains and automobiles

The trip from Dundee to Shepherds Bush really should have its own separate entry but I’ll give you the abridged version. If you look at the map it’s not that far, but we had to do the following:

• ·         a lift to Dundee station from Natalie in her snazzy hybrid Toyota
• ·         train from Dundee to Edinburgh Gateway
• ·         tram from Edinburgh Gateway to Edinburgh Airport
• ·         plane from Edinburgh to Stansted (2 hours spent waiting in the terminal, we weren’t falling for that again)
• ·         train from Stansted to Liverpool St station
• ·         tube train from Liverpool St to Shepherds Bush Market station
• ·         bus from Shepherds Bush Market station to Old Oak Rd

TGT2.5:3-5 were fantastic actually, though we were pretty pooped when we arrived at our home away from home and a very happy return.

Cornwall next for a bit of Symons family history

The Grand Tour 2.5 Episode 4 Cambridge and Leicester. The Rise of Mr Catastrophist

Cambridge and Leicester

So the first thing you should know about getting from west London to Cambridge on a Friday evening is DON’T DO IT!

What the hell were we thinking? Not only did we have to get out of London, we had to get ACROSS London. OMFG! You’d think having lived in London for 3 years I’d have worked that out but we didn’t ever really drive when we lived here, and the when we did drive, it was straight out on the A4 towards the west country. Easy from Ealing. Not so much from Hammersmith to Cambridge. In fact, this slightly absurd route even had the internets in a tizz. We could almost hear Google Maps saying, “Well, if I was you, I wouldn’t start from here!”

So we proceeded to zig and zag and zig and zag our way towards Cambridge and I swear we drove down every back street in northern London. Google maps does have a pretty good idea on rat running though. Perhaps it should be renamed Google Rat Running, or in our case Google Rat Walking, because a trip I thought might take about 1 ½ hours, took 3 ½ hours.

The friend we were going to visit, Ingrid, did express incredulity that we would attempt such a feat on a Friday evening and expressed alarm when we told her the route Google Rat Walking was taking us. “You’re coming via Morocco?!?!?!?” Well, it felt like it. She wasn’t too concerned though as when we updated her on our travel, she updated us on how many gin and tonics she was having.

So the second thing you should know about going to Cambridge is, we didn’t go to Cambridge. Ingrid lives outside Cambridge in a place called Waterbeach, where curiously there is no water and no beach. That is where we eventually caught up with Ingrid and her gin and tonics. Ingrid and I used to teach at the same school in London and she during the course of our stay reminded me of some of the less than professional antics I got up to. Something about playing cricket in the corridors, using various scientific apparatus as bats, balls and stumps and making everyone speak like a pirate for the whole day, including students (I forgot there was National “Speak like a Pirate Day” which I now recall I embraced with great enthusiasm). This was at an Orthodox Jewish School mind you. You are probably not surprised that I am no longer a teacher. And given Ingrid willingly joined in the various shenanigans it’s no surprise she isn’t a teacher at that school any more either.

We had a good catch up about the various happenings in our lives in the 7 years since we last saw her. 2 young fellas, Will and Ted, similar in age to Finley and Maja were now running about the place but unfortunately Ingrid’s husband, Paul, was away for the weekend. There was the slightly unnerving prospect of having the number plates stolen on our hire car stolen which Ingrid informed me was the latest trick of some local dodgy geezers. Anyhoo we drank a wee bit too much and eventually got to bed and awoke at a relatively leisurely hour to say our farewells, not visit Cambridge at all, and head to Leicester but of course not actually visit Leicester. Instead we were on our way to visit some friends, Merrin, Tom, Toby and Henry who until recently lived in Seddon. Now they live in Woodhouse Eaves (how English is that?) just outside Leicester. Woodhouse Eaves is very picturesque in an English cottage gardeny kind of way.

We had an extremely pleasant stay in Woodhouse Eaves unfortunately punctuated by watching Germany beat Sweden in the World Cup group match in the last 10 secs at the Red Lion pub (had to be one). It was made all the more annoying when TGT2.5:2 (A SWEDE FFS!!!) said Germany deserved to win because they were the better side. If that’s the sort of absurdly sensible and fair behaviour clog wogs exhibit at football matches then I am extremely likely to be kicked out when we go to see a game in the Swedish Premier League (aka Allsvenskan).

We had an extremely lovely long walk (10km )through woodlands and avoided golf balls through the golf course to and the ancestral home of Lady Jane Grey (self-declared Queen for 9 days, didn’t end well). Not surprisingly it was in ruins. In fact this neck of the woods has seen a bit of action in terms of royalty coming a cropper. More on that in a minute

We continued the walk and it did really show the Midlands up in a very favourable light. Rolling hills, picturesque villages, twinkling streams, and then Leicester. Leicester we were informed was to be avoided at nearly all costs. So we did.

The following day we went to the Battle of Bosworth Visitors Centre where Tricky Dicky 3 and Henry Tudor in the decisive final battle of the War of the Roses. It was King Tricky Dicky who tried to stop someone’s axe with his head at the Battle of Bosworth and we went to the Visitors’ Centre conveniently located some kilometres away from the actual place where the battle took place. Apparently, someone drew a mark on a map a few centuries ago and cartographers had been copying each other’s mistakes ever since. Consequently, Heritage UK or whoever is the responsible body bought an old farmhouse on the spot on the map, only for some upstart historian to actually check the facts, do a bit of digging and metal detecting to find the proper site down in a field a few Kms away, not on a hill. Makes sense, when you think about King Tricky Dicky being stuck in a swamp yelling, “A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse”. Not many swamps on top of hills, they tend to be down in the valley. Our guide on the tour at the visitors’ centre told us the historians also had the temerity to talk the locals who said their oral history said the battle site was down in the plain, not on the hill. Not too shabby considering it was about 450 years ago. Our guide got us to play different roles in our re-enactment of the battle. I was Earl of Northumberland. Pretty chuffed about that till it turned out Northumberland was a bit of a nob and couldn’t be bothered getting his troops to join the battle leading directly to a few things:

1.       Tricky Dicky was heard to yell “Treachery” aimed directly at me, ie Northumberland

2.       Tricky Dicky was consequently outnumbered and had the unfortunate run in with the aforementioned axe, though a close run thing apparently as Henry’s standard bearer right beside Henry got it in the neck

3.       Northumberland was soon killed by the locals from his home turf (ie Northumberland) because he did the dirty on Tricky Dicky

Poor choices.

Apparently hedging your bets was pretty common back then. Anyhoo, Henry Tudor won the day and Tricky Dicky’s body was left on display for 3 days (pee-eewww) in Leicester just to make sure everyone knew who lost. (Slightly more graphic than Match of the Day highlights.) Then he was buried in a car park. Well, it wasn’t a car park then. Pretty amazing they found his body recently though, especially when it meant they had to lose a few car park spaces.

On the way back we had to rush to a local village to watch the England v Panama in an English “country village on steroids”, as described by Merrin. It had the lot: Farmers market, cottage gardens, ye olde pubs, thatched roofs everywhere. Good result for the locals with the ball going in the back of the net 5 or 6 times. Then another lovely evening with Merrin, Tom, Toby and Henry and it was back to west London the following day via the Roman ruins of Veralumium in St Albans. Nice little amphitheatre. (St Albans in England is very different to the St Albans in Melbourne, not so many Roman ruins there.) Google Rat Running had regained its composure and no zig zags on the way home.

We had to get back to collect our belongings from Shepherds Bush for our trip to Scotland the following day. Now we had done another foolish thing which shows we really still haven’t got our travelling form back, we booked with Ryanair

OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME!?!?!??!!?

What sort of madness made us do that?

We thought leaving 3 hours to get to the airport for an internal flight would give us plenty of time. What naïve fools we are.

So to get to Stansted Airport which frankly is effing miles away we were faced with:

·         The 207 bus to Shepherds Bush station

·         Central line tube to Liverpool St Station

·         Stansted Express Removal of Money from your wallet (“Sorry, how much?”)

So it started out smoothly enough. Walk to the bus stop, bus comes every few minutes. Nice. Curious choice to go via Hammersmith and City line to Liverpool St Station as it was stinking hot (even for Orstrayans) and the Central line can be an oven. So we got to Liverpool St a bit behind time and the Catastrophist in me was beginning to stir but for the moment was mostly kept in check.

After selling on the kids to pay for the Standard Express train to the airport (bad paper scissors rock to lose) we hopped on the train and headed out only for it to continually stop to have a rest. Like Thomas the Bloody Tank engine. Mr Catastrophist was stirring. Especially as, if you miss a Ryanair flight, that’s it. You have to buy another one. The 45 minute train trip took about 1 hour and 15 minutes, and combined with the long tube ride we were now in the red zone.

When we arrived at Stansted we were faced with the fact that it is a F*CKING AWFUL airport. Now we’ve travelled a lot, even on Ryanair from Stansted but that was 15 years ago and we literally had no idea where we were supposed to check in, where our bags were supposed to go. No BLOODY signs anywhere. Eventually after queueing up in the wrong line a couple of times, we made our way to the security check like cattle being taken to the abattoir. We noticed a big pile of small plastic bags but thought little of it, until of course our bags went through the scanner and they pulled apart every bag and took our every little bottle of liquid (surprising how many we had) including the ones in our toiletry bag. Apparently you are supposed to put any bottle/tube of liquid of any size in the small plastic bags. 1 plastic bag per person.

With plastic gloves on, they held up each bottle/tube/container in front of our faces:

“What’s this?

“Toothpaste”

“What about this?”

“Sunscreen”

“And this?”

“Deodorant”

Etc etc etc

What the f*ck was wrong with these people?

TICK TICK TICK

Mr Catastrophist was now in full control and I was starting to convulse.

We got through security after losing all manner of things associated with personal hygiene as well as a pocket knife (Bloody Ryanair say they put your hand luggage in the hold underneath the plane but don’t say they do that after you’ve gone through security so the collection of pocket knives was impressive).

Then we had to snake our way through 1 km of shops in an IKEA you can’t short cut to the end kind of way.

Aaaaggghhhh

Eventually we got past the shops. By now the plane was due to take off in 5 mins.

A sign said “Gate 83 this way: 8 minute walk”

“KIDS!! RUN!!!”

Mr Catastrophist was a raging beast control now, pushing little old ladies out of the way, treading on small children, yelling at passers by.

Only when Gate 83 appeared around the corner with the line still stretching out from the gate that Mr Catastrophist finally went back into his hidey hole. Thank gawd for that. Not good for anyone.

The Ryanair staff were a bit over it too and practically waved us through and we were on the plane but only after walking out on to the tarmac in a Hobart kind of way.

So we caught our flight much to my astonishment and were heading for Bonnie Scotland.

More of that later.

The Grand Tour 2.5: Episode 3 Shepherds Bush

Apologies to all of my loyal readers (both of them) for the delay in the publication of the next episode of TGT2.5 but I’ve had to do a lot of work so TGT2.5 Blog was put on the backburner.

Shepherds Bush was the next destination for TGT2.5. Very close to Loftus Rd which is the home ground of Queen’s Park Rangers (QPR) which were my brothers’ team when TGT2.5:1 was a kid and we lived in a village called Pebmarsh which is down the road from Lavenham. Lavenham you say? Lavenham also goes by the name of Godric’s Hollow. Yes, that’s right Harry Potter fans, I used to live down the road from Harry Potter’s parents. Everything, as I’m sure you’ll agree and as TGT2.5:5 continually reminds me, revolves around Harry Potter and she appears to be right.

I digress. TGT2.5:1-5 often feel like an invading army when we arrive at friends’ places to stay. There are usually only 1 or 2 people in the house and when 5 noisy Australian Clog Wogs steam through the door, I imagine it can be rather overwhelming. Arriving at Toni and her son, Baxter’s house, was no exception. In we piled and in an instant the living room was filled with bags and backpacks, wifi codes hunted down and coffee pot put on. Situation normal.

Toni has done a fabulous job of renovating her house and we have stolen many ideas from her when it comes to house design (fingers crossed renovation will happen after we return from TGT2.5, donations to that cause gratefully accepted). Toni’s house is a terrace and she has squeezed a lot in such a narrow house in a very stylish way. TGT2.5:2 worked with Toni when we lived in London 15 years ago (bloody hell where did that go?) and we’ve stayed with her previously so we were looking forward to seeing her and setting up shop in inner-ish London.

Shepherd’s Bush is a great base in London. On the Central, Hammersmith and City and Circle lines and not as Australian as I remember. That’s a good thing. Maybe that was the next suburb over, Acton. Anyhoo, it’s an amazingly cosmopolitan place and to be honest, I love it. Very busy though and perhaps a bit too busy for TGT2.5:3. He’s said that before about big cities which surprises me a bit as he is such a skateboarding fanatic I assumed he would be the ultimate urban fella. Apparently not. Loves the concrete and the steps but not the population density and also loves being in the bush.

Being so close to the centre of London let us see quite a lot of things pretty easily and we tried to be edumacational for the TGT2.5:3-5 rascals who are obviously not in school. That meant going to lots of museums. Before that though I had a meeting with an academic, Rachel Aldred, from the University of Westminster to try to set up some research partnerships. Rachel does cycling research and to be frank she’s a bit of a champion. Hopefully we’ll be making use of her research in Aus soon. She has just published some encouraging results from mini-Holland schemes in outer London. Look em up.

Before we went to the museums we went to the SkyGarden just round the corner from the Great Fire of London Monument. The SkyGarden is pretty spectacular actually. It’s at the top of a skyscraper in The City (called the Cheesegrater according to TGT2.5:5), opposite the Shard (or The Carrot (TGT2.5:5 again)), near the Gherkin (the Pickle (TGT2.5:3) or Olive (TGT2.5:5)), and the Walkie Talkie (don’t know who said that). The SkyGarden includes lots of plants inside an enormous glasshouse which you can walk all the way around. The views are pretty stunning and of course, we could make out the Tower of London all the way down near the river. It was difficult to convince the kids that for hundreds of years the Tower of London was the tallest building as it looks positively tiny now.

After the SkyGarden we wandered down to the Thames to tick off one of the things TGT2.5:2 has been very keen to do: a walk along the shore of the river at low tide looking for Roman/mediaeval artefacts. It was pretty easy to get down to the river but the bit which looked most promising for foraging involved traversing a very narrow stretch of wobbly concrete with a big chain hanging off the wall beside it. Slightly unnerving and not a great parenting moment watching as the only thing stopping your children falling into the Thames being good balance and an ancient rusty chain. We all managed to get across safely and promptly met up with another forager. She had been on a course run by the London Museum and had permission to collect items. We, on the other hand, did not. Didn’t stop these descendants of convicts!!! (One was sent down for nicking £40 of bedding and the other one nicked some candlesticks if you must know.) She was very friendly and helpful explaining all the mediaeval, Roman and various other bits and bobs we found. Fascinating. Perhaps too fascinating as by this time the tide had well and truly turned and the narrow bit of concrete with chains was even narrower and getting narrower by the minute. Still TGT2.5:2 chatted on with the Forager.

Yes, that’s a bit of a Roman roof tile.

Narrower.

That’s a bit of an Elizabethan pipe

Narrower.

That’s a bit of a mediaeval bowl

Narrower.

FFS!!!! TGT2.5:2 DO NOT DROWN YOUR CHILDREN!!!!!

Reluctantly TGT2.5:2 took heed of my protests and we headed back to the now remarkably narrow wobbly concrete and chains escape route and we made it back to safety and headed up some steps to the street. It was only at this point every member of TGT2.5 confessed to almost falling in and being washed away and would have done so if they didn’t have a good hold on the chain.

And you all thought TGT2.5:2 was the responsible one. Shame on you.

After that we decided to take the safe option and cross the river over London Bridge (despite the long and interesting history of a bridge in the location of London Bridge, the current bridge is pretty dull). So over we went in order to cross back over Tower Bridge. It wasn’t amazingly amazing but despite living in England for 3 years in London we had never been over Tower Bridge. So over we went and wandered past the Tower of London, which looked much bigger close up. We had been to the Tower when we were in London 7 years ago so we didn’t go in this time. However, we showed TGT2.5:3-4 traitors gate and hinted that a similar fate might befall them if they didn’t stop fighting. Crikey that’s been a pain. TGT2.5:3 and TGT2.5:4 could bicker for Australia. Tiresome and ridiculous.

The other museum visits included the Natural History Museum (sold to TGT2.5:3-5 as one of the scenes in the Paddington Movie) and the British Museum. Now as I’m sure all those parents among you know, attention spans of 8, 10 and 13 year olds can sometimes wilt in the face of an enormous museum so at the British Museum (wonderful central court space BTW) we grabbed the very helpful British Museum Top 10 guide and headed off to see the Rosetta Stone (TGT2.5:3 “why did they write it in those languages?”, Sutton Hoo haul TGT2.5:4 “I want that helmet”, Incan turquoise mask TGT2.5:3-5 look-alike competition, Egyptian sarcophaguses, TGT2.5:5 “Do you think we can look inside?”, Lewis Chess set TGT2.5:5 “they look like the Harry Potter chess set”, Vindolanda TGT2.5:3 “Why would you write a postcard? On wood? From there?”, Easter Island statues TGT2.5:3-5 look alike competition again.

See, we didn’t even complete the top 10.

They have moved the Diplodocus in the forecourt of the Natural History Museum and replaced it with the skeleton of a blue whale. Just as amazing as were the various other exhibits. The animatronic T-Rex was a bit roboty but still lifelike enough to put the willies in you if you thought for a few seconds about one of those chasing you. Headed up to the geology section as well and tried to recreate a few earthquakes for fun.

After that, or before, or around, different day, I don’t remember, we were in Trafalgar Square, having a coffee in St Martins in the Fields vault café (love that place), then we were heading down to the Tate Modern. We crossed the street behind Nelson’s Column and we heard a kid say:

“G’day Ben”

WTF?!?!?

Of course in a city of 8 million people, we had bumped into Austin, one of TGT2.5:3’s classmates. Austin, his sister and mother who had arrived only 4 hours earlier and were over for a holiday. We convinced them to spend the day with us and we headed off to the Tate Modern (mixed memories as TGT2.5:2 had the bike she cycled on across Asia on stolen outside the Tate Modern and good memories of Ben crawling up and down the Turbine hall as an baby). The Tate Modern is an extraordinary place, but also TGT2.5:3-5 had run out of puff and appreciation of kulcha so we quickly wandered through. It was good for TGT2.5:3 to have a bit of teenage company as obviously hanging out with his parents for such a long period of time is at times destroying his soul. So he recharged his batteries and got to say things like “Don’t even trip, dog” in the appropriate context and actually be understood.

On one of the other days (they are blurring into one) we headed up to Portobello Rd, the market there and an amazing skate park, Bay Sixty6, for TGT2.5:3 to let himself loose for a while. He wasn’t very happy about us hanging around so we were banished for an hour or two while he kickflipped, 1080 shoveit-ed, ollied, etc etc, TGT2.5:2 did manage to get a sneaky photo in when he wasn’t looking.

After that TGT2.5:1,2,4,5 wandered along the market and had some extremely yummy food and TGT2.5:4 started kicking around a soccer ball with one of the fellas he bumped into. Love the world game if only for that reason. A curious phenomenon of fishmongers in vans and stalls seems to be occurring all over the place and TGT2.5:2 tried to take a very touristy photo of a fishmonger stall on the street while standing in the doorway of Sainbury’s only to get a very firm rebuke from a cashier:

“We DON”T do that sort of thing here”

TGT2.5:2 briefly retreated with her tail between her legs only to return very soon after to catch a sneaky photo. TGT2.5:2 will not be denied.

TGT2.5:3 then returned from his skateboarding expedition after further topping up of his teenage batteries which also included meeting some fellow skateboarders from France, Australia and Austria. Ahhh, the international life.

Don’t even trip, dog!!!

After all those things it was then time to head to Cambridge and Leicester to visit some friends. More on that in Episode 4.