Pollo, Pizza, Butter and Wax - Another night out with young people

I like working with young people.  They've got their whole lives ahead of them, which means they're looking forward.  They're not old enough to have ballsed everything up yet, which makes them fun to be around.  They don't have very much money, and the little bit they do have, they want to spend on brightly coloured drinks and takeaways, but that's up to them.

I much prefer working with young people to working with old people.  One of the problems of working with old people is that they're looking back on everything, and to quote Inception, they are often 'full of regret, waiting to die'.  They just want to talk about how much their shares have gone down, or what scan they've just been for, or whether they'll die before or after their savings run out.

I presently find myself in that middle ground.  I'm not really young, but I'm not really old.  I don't have much money, but what I do have I've learned not to waste on coloured drinks, and although I've been for a few scans, I'm still relatively mobile, and so I haven't booked a place in the old people's home yet.

Last night I went out for a meal with lots of young people.  I had no choice.  There's only young people where I work.  In fact, 11 out of the 12 people at the meal were born after I left school, some of them were born after I got married.  It was three of the young people's birthdays, and their combined age is 68.  That's younger than my mum.  Considerate of them to cluster their birthdays together, so as to save money on having to go out multiple times.

It's the fourth time I've been out for a meal with them.  Two of the other three times were after I'd just been fired.  This time I only had a headache.  The first time was at the Copper Beech.  Massive portions of easily recognisable food at very reasonable prices.  The second time was at Cafe 85, where the food was delivered in little piles in the middle of satellite dishes after being constructed from food meccano out the back.  I wrote about that one here.

Last night was sort of a happy medium between the two.  It was at Al Forno's.  The food was slightly more expensive that the Copper Beech, and the drinks prices were astronomical, but the portions were big and the food prices were quite reasonable.  The meals also got delivered on plates approximately the same size as the food, which I always like.  I don't want to have to crawl into the middle of a plate big enough to pick up noise from the Big Bang just to go searching for the little bit of food that's in there.

Then again, I don't like the other extreme.  I don't like getting food squashed into a too small polystyrene container.  This is why I never order the special at work.  Whatever the special is, it's piled into a burger box in layers of the staff's choosing, and then you have to dig down in the style of a Chilean miner to get to the rest.  Usually with hot dinners I like to leave the best bits till last, but you can't if you veg is buried 3 feet below your steak.  Surely bigger sizes of polystyrene container are available?

Anyway, back to last night.  It was to celebrate Corinne, Natalie and Pete's birthdays (all very young and attractive, all with very good skin, at least one of them goes in for dermo-abrasion even though I have no idea what that is and they probably don't need it, as there's not a wrinkle in sight).  The table we were sat on was a lot like the picnic benches at work, but with more cutlery and less Yorkie pushers going past.

Although the food was easy to recognise, it had Italian names.  Thankfully we had brought the list, so we knew what we'd ordered.  I had Pollo Goujons followed by Pizza Piccante.  This is apparently foreign-speak for chicken nuggets and pepperoni pizza.  It was all very nice, but they must have run out of nugget sized bits of chicken in the kitchen because I got two giant ones instead that were more like chicken kievs.  Rob had a full plate of garlic bread and other people around me had ordered giant plates of potato shavings, which meant I had my own and some of other people's.  It was just as well I had 3 starters because the main course was a long time coming.  At least mine was.

The whole thing had been pre-ordered but the Andy Finn had to throw a spanner in the works by turning up late and ordering something extra on top.  As fate would have it, he'd ordered the same thing as me.

I hate that thing where most people have got their meals, but no-one wants to start until everyone has got theirs.  It's worse if the missing dish is yours.  That way, you can't eat because you haven't got anything, and the rest are watching the heat drain out of theirs while they're waiting for you.

At Alforno's they must have a special team of people who they send out to apologise to you if anything goes wrong.  I've never been apologised to, by so many people in such a short space of time in my life. And it really wasn't necessary.  I only had to wait about 5 minutes, but every 10 seconds or so they were launching somebody new out of the kitchen to apologise.  It was unreal.  They probably should have had a team meeting beforehand and agreed on the reason for the delay, but they were all just winging it.

The first guy said it was 10 seconds away, but that it was overdone, it had been in the oven too long, so if I wanted I could send it back. You should have brought it first instead of last, I suggested, I've not worked in a restaurant, but I've got an oven, I know that much.  The 10 seconds came and went and no pizza, and I was starting to get anxious.  How overdone was it going to be, and how bad would it have to be for me to send it back?  By this point I was hoping it was going to be a tiny charred black disc, so that it would be obviously inedible, as I hate having to return stuff.

Anyway, as the staff continued on their sponsored excusathon, the reasons for the lateness kept changing, until eventually they came out and pointed at Andy Finn, and blamed him for ordering the same thing.  They tried to make a case for only being able to get one pizza in the oven at once, and Andy had taken my spot, but as at least another 5 people on the table had pizzas, I think it's more likely that they just made what was on our original list, and somehow Andy's order had got lost, but he'd got mine.

I didn't actually mind any of this.  Because I really liked the restaurant, and I really liked the food, and the company and there was a nice atmosphere, and although the drinks were expensive, they are everywhere.

By the time my pizza came, it was so hot, I didn't know whether to eat it or use it as a sunbed.  Unfortunately, I'm not sure if the same can be said for the others.  But if they want to let their food go cold out of social politeness, that's up to them.

One of the things about crowded restaurants and long tables is that you can't always hear what other people are saying, but you can hear the odd word, so you just chip in when you can.  For some reason Pete had come dressed as Mr Sulu from the original Star Trek, and he seemed to be very interested in talking about different types of butter.  Apparently if you have too much of it, you can go numb.  Have you tried Lurpak spreadable I suggested, it's usually on offer from Tesco?  I've often eaten multiple slices of toast with that stuff on, and I've never had a numb face afterwards.  He didn't seem interested in my knowledge of supermarket deals and he just carried on talking.

Another conversation was about how dangerous it can be to get amateurs to rip strips of wax off your undercarriage.  After listening to that one, the chances of me getting wax removed from my delicate downstairs areas went up from a long shot 1000 to 1, to a mathematically almost non-existent 15 billion to one.  I'll keep the hair thanks.  As far as I know, no-one ever ended up in A&E just from having hair, so I'd like to keep it that way.

Despite the expensive drinks, and the huge variety of apologies I got in an Italian accent, the restaurant was actually really good, and I would definitely go there again.  The only down side was that I felt a bit crappy as I'd had head and neck ache all afternoon.  The good news is after dosing up on painkillers, and putting a heat pack on my neck I feel a lot better this morning.  But aches and pains are just part of getting old I suppose.

The good news is that unlike last time I went out for a meal with the same young people, I haven't been fired this week.  So there may well be more birthday meals to come.

A Freddo bar away from death - How I became a lazy cyclist

In the first few month of 2009 I hardly did any cycling at all. The tablets I'd been on since 2002 to treat my arthritis I think had stopped working. Since 2008 my symptoms had been getting a lot worse, and we almost didn't book a cycle tour in either 2008 or 2009, because both times I doubted whether I'd be up to it physically.

 


The hospital had offered me some much stronger medication (methotrexate) but I can't remember if I'd started on that by 2009. I'd been hesitant about taking it, due to the monthly blood tests and the alarming list of potential side effects. The fact that in larger doses it's used for chemotherapy didn't exactly fill me with enthusiasm. But whether I was on it or not by then, I can't remember. What I can remember is saying that the only way I could do a tour in 2009 was via B&Bs. There was no way I could cycle camp, it would be too hard.

I'd had a bloody horrible time camping in the summer of 2008, on the church camp at Winksley when I just couldn't get comfortable in the night, and I totally spoiled it for Ruth, so unless there was a big improvement in my symptoms, I wasn't about to try camping again.

Although I wasn't in the best physical shape for going cycle touring, I really fancied doing the Sustrans Lochs and Glens North Route between Glasgow and Inverness. I figured that if I only tried to average about 40 miles a day and if I only pedalled when absolutely necessary I could probably do it. My feet and hands had been painful on some really short rides earlier in the year, on one in particular I felt like I came within a Freddo bar of death. Thankfully I found a Freddo bar in my pocket, so I got through it. As well as sore hands and feet, I was worried about becoming fatigued so that was another thing in favour of the freewheeling idea.

 


Judging by the route profile for the Lochs and Glens, I reckoned I probably only needed to pedal about half the time (pedants such as Graeme please note, this actually means half the distance, not literally half the time, I'm well aware it takes longer to go uphill than down).

By the way, my physical feebleness wasn't the only reason I decided not to pedal too hard (or much). I also don't like to stress the bike. I don't know what tolerances they use when they test bikes, but I don't want to go snapping bits off mine by riding the thing like I'm the Incredible Hulk. I figure if I ride it quite softly, it will most likely cooperate. One of my favourite things when riding a bike is to ride it so it feels like I am not trying. If ever I was a He-man figure in the past, which I doubt, I've gone beyond that now. I don't want to go blowing my knees out or snapping a chain by trying too hard. Isn't the whole idea of a bike to make life easier, not harder?

So that was how I arrived at the decision not to try very hard at all on my bike in 2009. I wasn't sure what I'd got in reserve, and I didn't want to blow the tank early.

Sunday 10th May 2009.
Ruth and I rode to Darlington and caught the train to Glasgow.
I don't like riding on urban cycle paths due to the regular deposits of broken glass and dog poo which are found there, and I tried to persuade Ruth to do the first few miles out of Glasgow by train, but she wasn't having any of it. We'd booked a B&B in Balloch, and much as I whined on about getting the train at least as far as Bowling, she took no notice. She said it would be all part of the experience.  



Within a few miles of leaving Glasgow station we'd totally lost touch with the Sustrans signs, and we ended up in what to me looked like a pretty run down area. I'm a bit ashamed to say it now but I was feeling very self-conscious because we were on nice bikes with good quality kit and I was expecting to get some hassle or to even get robbed (probably by skinheads in shell suits with flick knives). Then, just at the height of our being lost, and my feeling anxious, and while I was hopping around outside a scruffy looking pub desperately needing a pee, and contemplating doing one behind a nearby skip, we were offered help by a man carrying some wrapping paper who'd just got off a bus. He took one look at us and he could obviously tell we were struggling. It was the first time I'd ever met a real Glaswegian, and if I'd inadvertedly picked up too many stereotypes from watching Russ Abbott's C U Jimmy, my defences were about to be lowered.

The man with the wrapping paper wasn't approaching me so he could head butt me in the face and tell me to 'Stitch that!', No, he seemed genuinely concerned for my welfare, and clearly wanted to help me find my way, as have all the other Glaswegians I've met since (see India 2012 and Kilberry 2012). With no sense of irony in evidence he pointed down the road and said 'See that burnt out shell of a building, turn left there, follow the path along the river for a bit, and you'll soon find your way'. The burnt out building proved to be not just a useful waymark, I also managed to have a pee behind it too.

I started feeling better for a while about the whole venture, the sun came out, but then Surprise Surprise! a glass related puncture. How unexpected! Not! Having tried to get Ruth onto a train to avoid this, I started having one of those I told you so type moods. Luckily Ruth took complete charge of the situation and fixed it while I stood around being pathetic, and pulling faces for the camera.

 


Once we got as far as Bowling, the route turned into a very pleasant canal towpath, and the sun was still out and we saw lots of families out for their Sunday walk, and it was just like seeing families anywhere else in Britain out for a Sunday walk except in Glasgow, every man had a can of Tennant's.

I felt pretty fatigued for the last few miles and I was glad to arrive in Balloch just before 6. The B&B Woodvale was absolutely fantastic, Alison the owner was really welcoming, we went out for a walk to the shores of Loch Lomond and an Italian meal in the evening, and I started to relax into the trip.

Monday 11th May 2009
Balloch to Strathyre.
A problem I'd been having in early 2009 was that I had been using toeclips on the bike, but after about 15 miles or so's riding I kept getting really bad pains in my toes, and I had to get off the bike and walk around a bit to allow it to wear off. It certainly made doing long distances difficult. Anyway, I decided after breakfast on the Monday that the toeclips had to go, and I'd just have to use flat pedals alone, so I spent about half an hour dismantling them before we set off.

 

Upon leaving Balloch, we encountered a man who was stumbling out of the local corner shop, drinking cider and arguing with himself. At 9.30 in the morning. I tried not to make eye contact with him, because I didn't want him to start arguing with me instead. 

The first part of the day was quite easy, as far as Drymen, where we stopped and sat outside a cafe for quite a while having coffee and cake, and not worrying too much about the time.

 


By the time we got to Aberfoyle, it was nearly 2 pm, and I was having real trouble seeing. I think the cheap suncream I'd put on my face had run into my eyes, and coupled with the glare from the sun I could barely stand to keep my eyes open. We went in a cafe for some lentil soup, but even in the very dark indoors of the cafe my eyes were so painful I had to borrow Ruth's sunglasses, and I ended up keeping them on all week. I've always hated it when people wear sunglasses indoors, ever since my step dad (nickname Roy Orbison) used to do it while he was drunkenly putting frozen peas in the deep fat fryer (but that's another story), so I felt the need to explain to the waitress that I wasn't either a blind man, a poser or simply being ignorant, but my eyeballs had been taking a bath in suncream, and they were stinging like mad.

Another downer about reaching Aberfoyle was that as well as being blind I realised that my back tyre was flat again. It was most likely glass residue from day before.

I was feeling pretty low now, and also panicky about the time, but Ruth took control again, fixed the puncture, and finally we set off again about 3.

From Aberfoyle the route signs directed us onto a steep forest track. We met 2 other cyclists on mountain bikes and we all realised together that we were lost in the forest. Eventually we found the main road again but we still had a steep climb to do over Duke's Pass. We seemed to be averaging about 3 miles an hour at this point.

Once over the top of the pass, we followed the road as it wound downhill to the edge of Loch Venacher. The path alongside the loch as far as Callander was pretty gravelly and then after Callander there was another bumpy section of cycle track to Strathyre.

 


It was just after 8 pm when we got to Strathyre, and I felt absolutely knackered. Until Arnside in 2012 this was the latest I'd ever arrived at my accommodation. My good intentions of getting there about 5 had gone out the window. We just managed to get to The Inn and Bistro down the road from the B&B minutes before they stopped serving. I felt a lot better after a good meal, but then some guy in a kilt started playing the bagpipes at absolutely deafening volume inside the pub. Ruth thought this was most excellent and very Scottish, and added to the atmosphere, whereas I just wanted him to go away.

Tuesday 12th May.
Strathyre to Aberfeldy.
The next day got off to a better start. We followed a lovely little country road to Balquhidder, where we visited Rob Roy's grave.

 


Then just after joining the railway path to Killin, I got my third puncture in 3 days, on the front wheel this time. More glass. Ruth hadn't realised this as she was riding in front but by the time she came back to look for me I'd almost fixed it. Although I hadn't done much to fix the previous two I think I must have got the idea because I had it repaired quite quickly. We followed the railway path through Glen Ogle to reach Killin about 1.30.

 

By the time we reached Killin I was having one of my trademark dips in both body and spirit. I was having a few stomach pains, well sort of a cross between that and a stitch, and I was having trouble speaking. 

Again Ruth took charge. She went in the first pub we came to, ordered me a Venison burger and chips and a pint of coke, and made me sit down, eat and drink. I murmured some protest about how we should have shopped around for somewhere cheaper, but she said it was more important to bring me back to life, and she was right.

 


I felt a lot fresher after lunch and we set off along a minor road which ran alongside Loch Tay. I always imagine roads alongside lochs will be flat but they never are, especially not in Scotland. It was tough to get any momentum on the undulating route along the Loch edge, and before long we had to stop again to get some coffee. Sweaty and scruffy looking as we were, and Ruth with her regulation oil mark on her calf, we felt seriously underdressed for the extremely well to do Ardeonaig Hotel. It cost about £7 for two coffees but it was worth it. It was great coffee served in a silver coffee pot and there was plenty of it. It certainly put some life back into us. The middle aged lady who took our order insisted on bringing me the bill in one of those leather folder thingies and then she insisted on bringing me my change back in the same leather thingy after she seemed to have had to walk to the moon and back to get it, and I imagine she thought I should give her the £3 as a tip, and it's probably the kind of place where most of the guests can't be bothered to wait around for ages for £3, but to me £3 is £3, and I'd already spent about a million quid on venison burgers that day, and I'm not made of money.   




Full of caffeine and with my £3 change safely tucked away we set off again and before long we were rolling down the hill into Kenmore. Ruth and I had a wobbly embrace on the grass verge in Kenmore, and we had the strong feeling that we were over the worst. And we were.

 


The rest of the day consisted of an easy ride over smooth roads to Aberfeldy and then an excellent and relaxing evening starting with our outstanding B&B Balnearn House. It was run by a lovely young couple with a baby, which was unusual because normally B&Bs are run by old folk, and it had wood panelling and we got bathrobes, and there was quite a nice view out of the window except for all the diggers and JCBs which were digging some stuff up in the middle distance.

 


And after using the bathrobes and lazing around a bit, we went to the Black Watch Inn and I had my first bowl of Cullen Skink which may have been the best thing I ever tasted, and I said that to the woman at the bar, and she said she'd be sure to tell her husband, who'd made it himself out the back.

Wednesday 13th May 2009
Aberfeldy to Balsporran Cottages.
3 days into the trip and apart from a bit of cloud in Glasgow, all we'd had was sun, sun, sun. Not even a cloud in the sky. We started Wednesday with a nice easy ride on smooth roads to Pitlochry, where we stopped for some coffee, lemonade and a scone. We got a bit lost near the Hydroelectric power station which didn't appear on our map, even though the fish ladder next to it was. Eventually we retraced our steps and realised we had missed a Sustrans signpost due to it being very near another sign advertising ice cream, which had caught our eye instead.

We rode on main roads as far as Blair Atholl where we used the toilet and raided the local shop for food, drink and ice cream to see us over the Drumochter Pass. The guidebook had been at pains to tell us not to get caught out going over the Drumochter Pass, about how the weather can close in suddenly, and how you can end up dying of exposure. With weather this sunny, all I was in danger of was melted ice cream on my legs.

We followed the disused old A9 (now traffic free) and then a very well surfaced cycle track up and over the Drumochter Pass. It was very picturesque except for all the litter strewn next to the A9 where car drivers and coach parties had mindlessly chucked their rubbish instead of taking it home with them.

Pretty much as soon as we crested the top of the hill, and had only just started rolling down the other side, the first building we saw on the left was our B and B, Balsporran Cottages. And it was a very welcome sight. It's a bit isolated up there so the owners do you a lovely homemade evening meal (including crumble) and we spent the evening eating and chatting to the other four guests, and the B&B owners. Two of the other guest were in their seventies, and it was the usual story. They were all as thin as pipe cleaners and they all liked to walk about 40 miles a day for fun, and the oldest woman only had about half a lung left and she'd also had to cut part of her own leg off with a penknife and leave it in a bog, but she could still climb Ben Nevis in about half an hour, carrying a tent and a spare pair of boots. Excellent. And I'd been sweating about doing 40 miles a day by bike. No problem!

When we'd planned the trip, this was the day we thought would be the hardest because of the big hill, but in actual fact it felt quite easy, and it was definitely my best cycling day of the trip.

Thursday 14th May 2009.
Balsporran Cottages to Carrbridge. Any day which starts with 12 miles of gently rolling downhill sounds like a good day to me. This is what it looked like from the route profile in any case. Right, I'm not pedalling I thought, not until I have to.

I managed the first 4 miles without pedalling at all, but then there was a slightly uphill bit going through Dalwhinnie and I started doing that rocking backwards and forwards thing to try and scrape a tiny bit more momentum out of the situation. As I almost came to a standstill, and probably looking a little bit like I was having a seizure, I saw Ruth coming the other way to look for me, in case I'd had another puncture. I'm okay, I said, I'm trying not to pedal. But seeing her coming towards me put me off a bit, and I did actually start pedalling, so I don't know how far I could have got if I'd just carried on rocking.

 


Because the route became a bit undulating thereafter, I had to continue pedalling on and off between Newtonmore and Kingussie, and so I didn't get my full 12 miles of rest. Mind you, you can overdo it with the freewheeling. If you don't bend your legs once in a while, they start to seize up. At least mine do.

We stopped at Gilly's Kitchen in Kingussie, which the hard nuts we'd met at Balsporran had recommended to us, we had some coffee and I bored the polite young assistant with my anecdote about I knew exactly how to pronounce Kingussie (Kinnoosie) because there's a funny scene about the place in Slumdog Millionaire. You know the one that won all the Oscars? Set in India? She was only about 12. She'd never even heard of it, I was wasting my time.

I've had a few spokes pop in my time, and always on the heavily laden back wheel of the bike, which I had to eventually get rebuilt later in 2009, but usually they go when you're carrying some weight. This time one popped just as I lifted the bike away from the wall of the coffee shop, to set off again.

By a brilliant piece of good fortune, there is a bike shop directly opposite Gilly's Kitchen, which I took my pringled back wheel directly into and asked them to fix it. By a not so brilliant piece of good fortune, it was the mechanic's day off. It was only about 10 miles further to Aviemore so we rode on there with my mis-shapen wheel making an annoying grating sound on every revolution.

Just before Aviemore we made an unscheduled stop at the Frank Bruce Sculpture Park, where there's some pretty weird stuff going on. Whenever I'm on a bike ride I usually try and avoid getting off the bike to do any walking, but Ruth is more in the moment and she'll go look at pretty much anything that takes her fancy, even if it means tramping two miles up a hill to look at a couple of rocks (see Isle of Arran electrocution story 2012). This was one of the better and more thought provoking detours we've done.

Fortunately, when we arrived in Aviemore I was able to get a quick repair done to my back wheel at Bothy's Bikes. 'You really need a new wheel' the mechanic said. After repairing it, he invited me to ride it round the car park for a bit to try it out, which I did, but as tactfully as possible, he told me, if it falls apart on the road, it wouldn't be his fault. I agreed not to blame him.

While he was fixing it, we had some fantastic cake at the Rothiemurchus Visitor Centre. There was a bit more down and up and then we arrived into Carrbridge.

When I'm riding with Ruth we often settle into a pattern where she rides a little way in front, and we often don't speak for quite a while, as we enjoy the ride in our own heads. This day in particular, but on the trip in general, I can often remember watching her riding style and admiring her steady metronomic pedalling and her serene demeanour. It's on days like these that I think she was born to ride a bike. I'm often up and down during an average touring day. Sometimes I feel really glad I'm there and sometimes I feel desolate and like it's all going wrong, and why didn't I just stay in? Ruth on the other hand tells me that she enjoys every second of it. And I believe her. My enjoyment from these things often comes from reflecting on things afterwards, and writing it all down, and talking about what's gone before, but I think she genuinely and actually enjoys it all as it's happening.

Later on that day it rained for the first time in our 5 day trip, and I expended more energy fighting with my neoprene overshoes trying to get them on than I did cycling. Ruth had to take over in the end, as I was heading straight for pulled muscle central.

The B&B in Carrbridge was lovely (Pine Ridge). It was run by a lovely lady called Shona along with her small and somewhat limpy dog, who was adorable, but probably would have been quite ineffective as a guard dog. Sometimes when you turn up at a B&B it feels very much like a business transaction. I am giving you some money, and you are letting me stay here for a bit and giving me some of your food. The great thing about the B&Bs on this trip was that they felt like a home from home. There was still an exchange of money involved but we felt totally comfortable being there and fully able to be ourselves.

By a strange coincidence, after having spent part of the day at a Sculpture Park, when we went to put our bikes in the garage it was also full of wooden sculptures that Shona's husband makes. But he wasn't Frank Bruce, so it was only a small coincidence.

 


We went out to look at the famous Carr Bridge and take some photos next to it, and then we had a cheap meal at the local pub. It was quite relaxing, except for the quite loud woman at the next table with the peroxide blonde hair who felt the need to comment on almost everything that her two teeny tiny children Savannah and Archie did. 'No Savannah dear, that's not how we eat asparagus now, is it?', and so on.

I sometimes think some parents feel the need to do a John Motson style commentary on every single thing their children are doing, just to prove that they are indeed out there, doing some parenting. But what do I know? Probably nothing, it's just that when I'm eating a meal two tables away, I don't want to come away afterwards feeling like I now know someone else's children as well as they do. I don't care if Archie wasn't brought up to make chip sandwiches.

Friday 15th May 2009
By now the good weather had finally deserted us. We had a rainy and steady climb up to Slochd Summit and then pretty much a roll down the hill all the way into Inverness. At one point Ruth rolled down one hill too many, and shouting didn't work, so I had to phone her and ask her to cycle back up it to take the turn that she'd missed by getting carried away.


On the way, we stopped at the Culloden Battlefield Visitor Centre for coffee and crumble. We found it to be a very haunting place, and over our meal the conversation ended up mostly being about violence and oppression. And then a couple of coachloads of American tourists came piling in, and I was glad I didn't have to queue up behind them, because we would have been hours.


It was a comparatively short day at 29 miles and we got to our B and B around 3 O'Clock. Luxury. This gave us time for a shower and then some Costa Coffee, Cider and Pizza, but no soup! We caught the train home the next morning.

On reflection, what an excellent experience that week was! I would like to do it all again someday. The weather was great, the winds were benign, the locals were friendly and the mishaps were small. If only all trips were like that.

Although I felt a bit crap physically on some of it, like heading into Balloch on Day 1, and on the long drag into Strathyre on Day 2, and just before and just after Killin on Day 3, I felt a bit better every day, and I think in the end I probably could have pedalled more, and I most probably wouldn't have fallen down at the roadside and died. Ditching the toeclips certainly helped, and probably so did the very kind weather, and no doubt it helped a lot that all the B&B owners were kind, and all the food and drink was good, and that we were out there, in the fresh air, doing something we really like doing. And certainly it helped that at the times when I was at my most feeble, Ruth was not, and she helped me through it. And it helped a lot to see her absolutely in her element, enjoying every second of it. And even being with a man with bad feet and a tendency to moan and a reluctance to pedal didn't dent her enthusiasm.

When I look back now at 2009, I realise how much better I've been since then, in health and in what I've achieved on a bike. The drugs that I initially didn't want to take have worked out really well for me, and if they're giving me side effects I haven't noticed what they are.

But I still like to conserve energy when I'm out on the road, by pedalling softly, and by not trying any harder than necessary. But that's the thing about a bike. If you help the bike, the bike helps you. And so if there was ever a form of exercise for lazy people, cycling must be it. And that's probably why I keep doing it.

Memories are made of this - How I became a cycle tourist

Although Ruth and I had been cycling together and also talking in vague terms about going cycle touring since 1998, it wasn't until 2005 that it started to become a realistic possibility. Ruth's children had never wanted to go on holidays involving cycling, but by 2005 they were old enough to be left at home alone while we did.

Just having the opportunity to go wasn't the only requirement though. Were we fit enough? Up until then, the cycling we did was mostly short journeys; cycle commuting and leisure rides within our immediate local area. The occasional trip to Great Ayton for a ham bun and a coffee was about the furthest we went. In those days a 20 mile ride was a full day out. To contemplate riding 40 to 50 miles a day for a week, with luggage, was something else entirely.

Also, we didn't have the proper kit. At the time we both had Raleigh hybrid type bikes, but it had never been apparent to us how slow and heavy Ruth's bike in particular was.

On a ride out to Osmotherley one day in early 2005 Ruth was getting depressed at how much slower she was than me, so we swapped bikes and immediately I became much slower than her. The penny dropped, it wasn't her, it was the bike. Lance Armstrong used to say it's not about the Bike. Well, some of it is Lance, if you don't believe me, try blasting up Alpe d'Huez on a women's Raleigh Spirit Nexave circa 1999. It's like a skip on wheels. And not even an empty skip. A skip full of old baths and radiators and a water tank.

Within a few weeks of realising that she was riding round on an anvil, Ruth went to Cowleys in Northallerton and bought herself a Dawes Horizon. Not long after that, not to be left out, I bought myself a Dawes too, a Sonoran. As I'm the most indecisive man in the world and also the most reluctant man in history to spend money on myself I spent about 3 weeks in Cowley Cycles trying out every handlebar and stem combination in the universe but finally, just before Steve had to kill me to get me out of the shop, I decided. Then we bought some panniers and a bar bag, and by the summer of 2005 we were finally kitted out for touring. At 2005 prices both bikes cost less than £400 each. I would have to say, based on the use they've had, they are the best things we've ever bought. Not the best bikes. The best things. Nothing I've ever had has given more pleasure per pound of outlay.

So we were kitted out for cycle touring, but not yet for cycle camping. No, the tent and sleeping bags would come later. This is me we're talking about. Even after 7 years of being told all about it, I still couldn't quite believe that you could carry everything you need for a holiday, on a bike. One step at a time, I thought. We'll do B&B first. I might work my way up to camping later. Much later.

Despite Ruth having always wanted to do the Sustrans Coast to Coast and her talking to me about it on and off for 7 years, this wasn't what we chose for our first tour. This was largely due to my aversion to getting on trains with my bike without a reservation. I still haven't really got over this, mostly due to my experiences of travelling to Leeds and York on the TPE service, and having fat Bet Lynch lookalikes in deeley boppers, and frogmen, and drunken shaven headed after shave wearing stag party attenders squeezing me into an ever smaller space with my bike, until my face is nearly pressed up against the window, and I'm nearly passing out from the alcohol breath being exhaled by an entire rugby team who are squashed into the bike storage with me.

Because of the convoluted nature of the train journey required to get to Whitehaven to start the Coast to Coast and the fact that it's a first come first served service, I pretty much made the decision that we'd do the Sustrans Coast and Castles NCN Route 1 instead. It seemed a lot simpler option because both the Newcastle beginning and the Edinburgh finish are on the East Coast main line, and both of these can be reached on trains that allow advance cycle reservations. For a man as cautious as me, that makes all the difference.

As I'm usually the nut who sits with maps for weeks in advance planning every detail of the proposed holiday route, I don't like to entrust my planning to the vagaries of whether we can get on a train or not. There's no point in having a meticulously worked out sequence of B&Bs all at sensible daily mileage intervals, if you can't even get to the start of the ride.

I was so anal about planning things to death in advance in 2005, that we even had a practice at getting to Darlington for our outbound train. Because the trains from Thornaby are Northern Trains and again not bookable, I didn't want to risk training it to Darlington, so we had to ride it. And I didn't want to ride down the A66 or the A67, so we had to plan a snaking route out via Yarm and Aislaby and Middleton One Row and Neasham. 18 miles in total, but it was a good way to start the holiday.

It wasn't just the ride to Darlington we practised for. We were also not used to riding longer distances, so in the weeks leading up to the holiday we gradually built up to doing 50 miles plus in a day. Also, we'd never ridden the bike every day for a week, we weren't sure if our arses could take the wear and tear, so we did that too.

So, after weeks of planning and staring at the Sustrans map, and reading Mark Porters Coast and Castles Baytree Press guidebook from cover to cover about 9 times, we set off on Sunday 17^th July 2005.

With hours to spare we caught our pre-booked train to Newcastle. After the short train journey, during which we told some people what we were doing, but didn't even believe it ourselves, we rode along the Quayside in Newcastle past a few bars blaring out music and along cycle paths along the Tyne to the lighthouse at Tynemouth, where we stopped to mess around and take some photos.

Ruth fiddled with her gears a bit which didn't seem to work properly when she was riding, but worked fine when we were stopped and the bike was unladen. We weren't too worried about this, as we were almost in Whitley Bay, so we gave up tinkering for the day.

The B&B in Whitley Bay didn't look like much, but a lot better than the one I'd stayed at in Blackpool when I was 7, with the potatoes like bullets. In truth, Whitley Bay itself didn't look like much, it was pretty deserted. We wandered round for a bit and had a look at a few boarded up buildings and then we went for a curry in the curry house next door to the B&B, after not seeing anywhere better on our travels.

Monday 18^th July 2005. Whitley Bay to Alnmouth. Not the most pleasant morning I've ever had on a bike. I don't think anywhere called Seaton Sluice is going to be the highlight of anybody's holiday. We weren't long out of there when we ended up going round and round the housing estates of Blyth on a series of meandering Sustrans cycle paths for what seemed like hours. This was supposed to be the Coast and Castles, not the Coast and Council Estates. We did manage to find the Asda in Blyth and bought some lunch, but just as we arrived there black clouds were gathering overhead, and I was thinking to myself, this could be a disaster in the making.

Next we took a wrong turn and ended up down at the Alcan aluminium smelter at Lynemouth. This is not very scenic I thought. Eventually after escaping from Alcan we arrived at a small ice cream shop at Cresswell, and we had an ice cream (obviously), a takeaway coffee and a chat with two fat touring cyclists. We swapped stories about Blyth, and Seaton Sluice and the detour to the aluminium smelter and they told us, 'oh it gets better from here', and I thought, I bloody hope so. And also striking up a conversation with people in lycra on bikes with panniers, I realised for the first time. We're really doing this. We're proper touring cyclists.

And the fatties were right. It did get better. By the time we got to Amble, it was positively scenic. Ruth was still having trouble changing gears so we popped into Blaze Bikes. It didn't take the owner long to figure out that the gears were in perfect working order, it was just that the bloody big bar bag was stopping the gear shifter from moving properly. This made us both feel a bit dumb, but he kindly didn't charge us for pointing out our idiocy.

It was nice that the route had started to improve, because it was our Wedding anniversary too that day. By the time we arrived in Alnmouth, it was all starting to be a lot more fun, and that evening we had a lovely home cooked meal at our B&B Beaches, and then a walk on the beach and we were both knocked out and unconscious from the day, and from the fresh air, and the food, by 8.40 pm. We probably wouldn't have woken up at all the next morning if the owner's cat hadn't been noisily disembowelling a bird on our bedroom floor. We probably shouldn't have left the window open.

Tuesday 19^th July 2005. The next day was one of the best ever, on a bike. We arrived in Craster about 11 am and sat out the back in the beer garden eating crab sandwiches and drinking coffee and looking out over Dunstanburgh Castle, then we stopped for lunch at Seahouses and ate the packed lunch the lady at Beaches had done for us, which had lovely sandwiches as well as chocolate cake, and then the day ended with us blasting along the causeway onto Holy Island at about 25 mph, with a massive tailwind. We felt like the King and Queen of the world. We'd almost done 50 miles in the day and it was all beautiful scenery, good food and easy cycling.

Just before we'd joined the causeway, we'd put our raincoats on, as it looked like it was about to rain, but then the sun came out, and the sun and the tailwind and the water glistening on the road made it a magical jet-powered journey onto the island. In fact, the raincoats never came out again all week. Although it was cloudy all week, the rain stayed away, and most of the time we rode in only a T-shirt.

Holy Island isn't actually on the Coast and Castles route, but we decided to take a detour to go there, because we had some history there. I'd taken Ruth there before, on sort of a first date in February 1998. I say sort of a date, because her kids were with us, and they kept moaning and saying it was boring, and that they wanted to go to the Metrocentre.

It was a lovely sunny Winter day, that first visit, and we got a free car parking ticket courtesy of someone who was leaving after 10 minutes 'because it was shut'.  What were they expecting, a theme park? Anyway, on our return we were booked into the Ship Inn. We had a four poster bed, although I don't remember asking for one, and the owner was very friendly, and he gave us some free orange squash for our bike bottles when we left the next day but one thing I didn't understand was that they served their evening meals with both salad and peas. I found this confusing, especially since I ordered pie and chips. You can't have salad with pie!

Wednesday 20^th July 2005. The next morning was the first time it really hit home to me that how hard a day on a bike is, is not about how many miles you go. It became apparent why the previous evening had been so easy, as we grovelled off the island at virtual walking pace into a massive headwind. We didn't get above 5 miles an hour the whole way off. Then, once we were off the island we joined a fire road style road with massive lumps of brick in it, which ran alongside the railway. It was a right filling loosener. It was here that we met David for the first time, a middle aged solo cyclist from the Midlands, who was trying to wear in a new Brooks saddle. His old one had disintegrated the day before. Completely by accident we would keep meeting him at least once a day for the rest of the trip, and his binoculars would prove very useful later on.

It was only 33 miles from Holy Island to Coldstream, but the headwind, rough surface, and a stretch along the coast to Berwick, through a field, dodging cows, meant that by the time we'd done the 18 miles to Berwick, I felt physically and mentally done in. Ruth had also delayed matters by stopping for a while to talk to a guy who was cutting his hedge. They got chatting about his cancer and what a great time he'd had in hospital and what great treatment he'd had blah blah blah and he kept saying he wasn't scared, but Ruth said later he was only saying that because he was so scared shitless (I never understand it when people don't say what they mean). I was so concerned about our schedule that I rode off while she was still talking to him. I probably should have been a bit more tolerant.

Once we got to Berwick, we went in a cafe to get some lunch and by this time I could barely remember my own name, so Ruth had to take over and order me some food and drink. It wouldn't be the last time my brain and body would go AWOL on a bike ride. In fact it still happens with alarming regularity.

After a toasted sandwich and some coffee, the riding did at least get easier after Berwick. We started following the Tweed Valley, and we crossed backwards and forwards in and out of Scotland, until we reached The Castle hotel in Coldstream. It was pretty hot and it had been a hard day, and walking in as I did with full panniers and looking a bit dedraggled, I was expecting a bit of help. However, the two young girls behind the bar looked pretty disinterested. I certainly wasn't feeling the love. Some of this might have been my own expectations. I hadn't been to Scotland before, but I had seen Braveheart. Because Coldstream is right on the border I was probably expecting a bit of latent hostility towards the English. I mean, my ancestors could have killed their ancestors (or vice versa).

One of the girls showed us to our room, which was fine, although she didn't help with the panniers, and I wasn't too impressed that the only place I could leave the bikes was in half a shed. It didn't seem very secure to me, as it had no front door on, and later on in the night when I was a bit drunk and having to pee a lot I kept looking out of the bathroom window to check the bikes were still there.

I can't really handle my drink at all, and so on a cycling holiday I should maybe stick with one shandy as a reward for a good day's riding but then drink soft drinks after that. Unfortunately, as it was my first real experience of Scotland, I had that comedy sketch playing in my head where someone goes into a bar in Glasgow and asks for shandy, and they say 'we don't do cocktails'. So for reasons of social embarrassment, and as a result of being too scared to ask for shandy, I spent the evening knocking back 4 pints of Stella or Tennants creosote or some other wicked strength lager, 1 before and 3 after our evening meal.

We didn't eat at our hotel though, I'm not even sure they were doing food. We went up the road to the Besom Inn, which was really friendly and we sat in a room full of Coldstream Guards memorabilia, and I started to feel a bit more comfortable, because no-one in a kilt had tried to kill me yet. And David who we'd met just after Holy Island was in there too, having his evening meal. After dinner, we went back to the Castle and I wondered if maybe it was my fault we'd got off on the wrong foot, and so in the name of English-Scottish relations I drank 3 more pints of beer in the bar, and tried to look like someone who fits in, in Scotland.

All that this achieved was to leave me terribly hungover, and after getting up at 5 in the morning with my head swimming, I had to go for a 2 hour walk to try and get rid of the hangover. This didn't really work, but I did have a nice walk by the river in Coldstream, and it didn't look like such a bad place after all.

Thursday 21^st July 2005
I went back to the room and found Ruth and we went down for a full Scottish (which is just like a full English, but in Scotland, and with more black pudding), We spent some time, transferring the bar bag onto my bike, so that Ruth's gears would work again. It fitted much better onto my flat and wide handlebars, and before we left the hotel gave us the packed lunch we'd ordered. As a bonus, when we unpacked the sandwiches later in the day, we found some raw meat hanging off the cling film, so we thought it safer to bin them. Again, this could have been just cultural differences. I'm not sure. The Tweed Valley was lovely though.

As I'm the one who does the route planning on our cycle tours, I can be a bit inflexible if I don't think we're making good time. We arrived at Kelso at 11 in the morning, Ruth wanted to go in for a look round, but I said as we were only 11 miles into a 48 mile day we didn't have the time. I then didn't help our time management much by missing a necessary right turn towards Scott's View. I got confused between St Boswells and Newton St Boswells on the map. When I arrived at the A68 Trunk Road with not a Sustrans sign in sight I realised my mistake, but the wrong turn had added around 5 miles on to the day.

By the time we got to Melrose, I thought we had better make time for some lunch. We sat outside a very pleasant cafe in the sun and I had a lovely ploughman's lunch but then for afters they gave me some mouldy cherry pie. When Ruth complained, the waitress assured us it was freshly made that day. I'm not a baker but I'm not even sure if it's even possible to get mould on stuff within a day. As I recall we were a bit stingy with a tip.

Our destination that day was St Ronan's Hotel in Innerleithen. Innerleithen is a Mountain biking town, very busy on weekends.  This particular Thursday it was dead.  We were the only guests in the B&B.  Even the owners weren’t staying on site. When we asked about bike storage, we were told to take them up to room with us. The guidebook had said that evening meals were available at St Ronan's but the lack of other guests and a sign on the back of the room door advising us not to get takeaway pizza on the bedclothes or something like that was the only reference to food, so we thought we'd better go out to eat. Before we could go out I had to rinse my eye out in the bath and wait for the swelling to go down. It was the first hint of the dry eye problems I've had later, and that night it felt like I had glass in it.

I found the experience of visiting Innerleithen similar to our experience in Coldstream, in that once we found somewhere pleasant to eat, we felt a lot more at home. We had an excellent meal at the Corner House Hotel, where we bumped into David again, who was staying there. The warm and friendly atmosphere in there kind of made me wish, we'd chosen to stay there too.

Friday 22^nd July 2005.
The last full day of our trip didn't start too promisingly. We were woken up at 5 am, by the fire alarm going off. After about 5 minutes of deafening noise, we realised that no-one was coming to switch the thing off, so we rang the owners number off the back of the bedroom door. After about 20 minutes of wandering the corridors of the completely deserted B&B which reminded me a little of being in the Shining, the owner came and reset the alarm. We finally got back into bed about 5.30. At about 5.32 the alarm started again. And the process was repeated.

After the second alarm reset I looked at the breakfast room set with only the cutlery for the two of us and I said to the owner ‘Look, why don’t we just forget about breakfast. We're up now, why don’t we just set off?' She seemed relieved and delighted that she didn’t have to get up again in a couple of hours to do us breakfast, and on top of that, she would only take £15 for the room, to cover her cleaners wages, not the £55 we should have paid. By the time we'd gathered our things together and carried our bikes downstairs, the excellent bakers directly opposite the B&B was just opening.

Delighted as I was with my £40 saving, I got us a takeaway coffee each, and then we filled up every available spare bit of pannier space with scotch pies, chicken tikka and crab salad sandwiches and bottles of pop and off we went. 

The first 12 miles out of Innerleithen was a slow and steady uphill climb with only sheep and clouds for company.  The only sounds were gentle running water and the sound of our tyres on the road. Upon passing the golf club we met a green keeper who greeted us and told us a tale about a man who in a moment of drunken boasting had claimed he could walk from there to Edinburgh playing the bagpipes all the way.  Then he showed us his grave.  He had dropped dead shortly after he began. He probably should have ditched the bagpipes and got himself a bike, I didn't say.

On our Sustrans map was a little arrow which we were heading towards which said ‘Superb views of Edinburgh’. I wasn't really getting my hopes up. I've been oversold stuff before.

A few miles further on we encountered a road closed sign and just as we were contemplating finding another route we spotted a smaller sign in a plastic wallet hanging off the big sign which read ‘Cycle Route Open’.  This was great news.  This view we were heading for wasn't only superb, today it was for cyclists only.  No cars allowed. 

When we finally came round the bend, and saw the view that the map had predicted, it was indeed superb. And it wasn't just the view. It was the peaceful climb that we'd had to get there, and the fact that we had pies, and then to top it all off, David arrived, We only usually met him in the evenings because he usually set off earlier than us and he was faster.  But because of our 5 am alarm call, today for once we were ahead of him.  And just as we were admiring the view he cycled up behind us. With his binoculars. It wasn't just Edinburgh we could see down there, it was the whole Firth of Forth shining below us in the mid morning sun. 

David pointed out some sights and we took some photos of each other next to the Sustrans sign marking the highest point of the Coast and Castles route. We ate our sandwiches and our pies and we sat on the grass and drank our fizzy pop and as moments go, it was one of the best.

It wasn't all plain sailing after that though. After the view, we had a fabulous descent, but then we encountered heavy traffic through Dalkeith, got a bit lost and arrived in Edinburgh about 1.30.  Great we thought, an afternoon exploring the sights.  But rather than leave the bikes in the centre of Edinburgh, I thought we should go and check into our accommodation and then explore.

Three hours later we were still looking for it.  Ruth insists to this day that she advised me to buy a map of Edinburgh before we left home but I don’t remember.  The other 5 days of the tour had been easy.  All the other places we stayed only had 1 street.  If we found that, we found the B&B.

In my guidebook it said our Edinburgh accommodation was near the foot of Arthur’s Seat.  I didn’t really know what Arthur’s Seat was and I thought, ‘If we find Arthur’s Seat, we’ll find the B&B'.  But it’s not a seat, it’s a mountain.  We spent 3 hours circumnavigating that mountain, mostly going in the wrong direction. 

We did ask some people for directions, but they sent us the wrong way. We couldn't find a map shop, I even tried the Scottish Parliament building but they didn't have any. I tried ringing the B&B to ask them to guide us in, but only the owner’s Thai wife was at home and her broken English only added to the confusion. We even had a ride down the cobbled streets of the Royal Mile at one point, but still remained without a clue.

Eventually, after four hours of riding round and round in circles, we found the B&B, but all the advantages given to us by our early start, we'd managed to flush away and we didn't arrive at the B&B till after 5.30, which was about par for the course for us.

It was after 6 by the time we were showered and ready to go see the sights.  Ruth was so tired she could barely walk and my refusal to get a bus did not help her weary state. We ate an unremarkable Chinese all you can eat meal with her almost passing out and then we set off walking back to the B&B. Her legs had almost given up by now.

Seeing her looking forlorn I paid a tenner to get her a ride part of the way back to the B&B in a cycle rickshaw but this just seemed to heap embarrassment on top of her fatigue and even with his giant and prominent calf muscles bulging away, the rickshaw pilot would only take us a fraction of the required distance anyway.

So I walked her the rest of the way back to the B&B, left her passed out in bed, and I set off back into town, this time I did get a bus. But the castle was closed for an event and as it was falling dark the streets became a curious mixture of drunk Scottish people and Japanese tourists. Despite the seeming incongruity, they seemed to coexist with each other just fine.

So that was our trip. The next morning we caught the train home. As you might expect by now, David was on our train. But he was heading for Derby or Doncaster or somewhere this time, we only as far as Darlington. I've often wondered, after meeting him that week, what it must be like to do a trip like that solo. One of the enduring best bits of that week for me is that for nearly 8 years now, I get to look back on it with Ruth, and start lots of sentences with 'Do you remember that time we.......?'.

To go on a tour like that, and not have anyone to look back on it with, that must take a different kind of person. I'm not sure I could do it.

On another cycle tour, many years later, Ruth and I sat down High Fidelity style and compiled our Top 5 all-time cycle tour moments. That few minutes looking at Edinburgh through borrowed binoculars, sitting on the grass together, eating pies and drinking pop, was definitely in there. It may even have been number one. But then again, there were many moments that week, which could have also made it into the Top 5. How do you choose?

Not that it was the perfect week. Whitley Bay, Seaton Sluice, Coldstream and the aluminium smelter at Lynemouth were never under consideration for my recently compiled list of 101 places I went before I died, but I think even if you go to crummy places, anyone's first cycle tour is always going to be special.

It's a bit like the feeling you get when you can first ride a bike without stabilisers. You can't believe you're really doing it, but you are. And although you might go on to have many other adventures later, the feelings are somehow never quite as surprising, and memorable as the first time.  

Step away from the Twiglets and the Advocaat! It's not worth it!

Christmas is supposed to be the season of goodwill to all men, whereas more often than not it's simply the season to go mental and start behaving like a madman.  The shops don't really help matters.  As soon as it gets to the end of November Tesco starts barricading the entrance to its stores with multipacks of beer and tins of Roses, anyone would think that's all they sell.

This year because of Ruth being at work from Christmas Eve to Boxing Day, the lack of small children at home and my latest imminent bout of unemployment I decided to handle the festivities in a very low key way.

I didn't bother getting the tree out of the loft, I figured there'd be no-one to see it.  Instead I decorated the fireplace with the 7 Christmas cards I received and two sets of battery operated fairy lights which I stole off Ruth's bike.

I didn't send any Christmas cards, which is a real money saver since stamps are expensive.

I hardly bought any presents for anyone, and the ones I did give, I bought on the internet and I gave them in the cardboard boxes they arrived in, saving on wrapping paper.  The only presents I actually wrapped were for Alex and Rosie and I wrapped those in leftover birthday paper.

I knew the shops would be shut twice for one day at a time, once on Christmas Day and once on New Year's Day,  As a result, on Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve I bought enough food to last two days, not fifteen.  At no point did I start panic buying twiglets, mixed nuts and Advocaat.  I didn't stockpile Celebrations and Quality Street and massive variety packs of cheese.  I pretty much just ate normally each day of the festive period, and on no one day did I eat portions that would have been more in keeping with being an Olympic rower.

I barely did any cooking, but I managed to have lots of nice meals with family and friends.  None of these involved me dirtying any of my own plates though, which really saved on washing up.  I had one meal at the pub with my mum and Ruth, and I had 3 other meals at other people's houses ie the Johnsons, Holdsworths and Grahams.  The lack of dishes to do was a real time and effort saver.

I worked in two different shops during the 7 weeks before Christmas, and I saw lots of stressed people unable to walk under the weight of shopping bags, tying themselves up in knots, trying to fulfil their Christmas buying responsibilities and talking about how many people they still had to buy for.  I pretty much didn't buy for anyone, and the presents I did buy were cheap.  It was much less stressful.

I had a couple of glasses of wine and a small tumbler of Bailey's over the Christmas period but at no point did I go out ransacking any town centres after spending all my Christmas wages on jelly shots and Jaeger bombs.  I drank mostly orange juice and the odd J2O with glitter in.  I didn't get completely wasted and start smashing chairs over people's head and getting thrown in the back of a police van on Black Eye Friday.  On that particular evening I finished work at 9, I bought a bottle of Lucozade from the shop on the way home, and then I stayed in being completely non-violent.

I'm not saying this type of Christmas is for everyone.  Each to his own.  If you want to spend all your money on expensive gadgets and 700 cans of Stella and your holiday time eating yourself stupid and getting Turkey poisoning and going round chinning people and getting arrested well that's up to you.

But for this year at least, I think I'll stick to my own survival strategy.  It's cheap, simple and surprisingly stress free.

A letter to Mark Kermode

Dear Mark

I just finished reading your book 'The Good, the Bad and the Multiplex' and I really enjoyed it.  There were many things I agreed with you about, and a few things I didn't.

In no particular order here they are:

1) I really like the Lake House.  I didn't know it was based on a probably far superior foreign edition, so I took it on face value and really liked it.  But then I really like time travel stories, and I also really like Keanu Reeves.  I can't understand why people find him so dumb and wooden.  I think he's pretty convincing (please see Speed and the Matrix).

2) I feel exactly the same as you with regards to going abroad (or in fact anywhere).  Most places I've been to, I went because my wife thought it would be a good idea.  Although I feel out of my comfort zone when I'm in a foreign country, I do normally get a lot out of the experience.  Also, it's nice to listen to foreigners talking, as it's a lot more difficult to get wound up by other people's opinions, if you can't understand them.  French people for example, always sound very exotic, even if they're just talking about nipping out to buy some sugar.

3) You are pretty darned scathing about Michael Bay.  I agree the Transformer films (I've only seen the first one) are absolute garbage, but I did really enjoy The Rock and Armageddon.  Sometimes I don't want to think about stuff while I'm in the cinema, and the good guys being in orange jumpsuits and the bad guy being an asteroid helps to keep things nice and simple.  Also, there's a lot of humour in both, which makes it less dreary than it might otherwise be.  Oh, and some good actors.

4) I agree with what you said about film reviewing being very subjective, and also that the person that you are when you go see a certain film can really influence whether and how you enjoy it.  This has been true of most of the films I've seen in my life.  For example, when my wife and I found ourselves in central London on her 40th birthday looking for something to do in the evening, we thought we'd go to the Odeon Leicester Square as a treat.  But it was £15 to get in, and all they were showing was In the Valley of Elah, which I didn't really fancy anyway.  At those prices I'd have expected to sit next to Tommy Lee Jones himself.  I might even have insisted that he stump up the cost of the refreshments.

Anyway, completely by accident, we ended up finding the Prince Charles Cinema, which happened to be  showing 'Once'.  And it was only 2 quid each!  We saw this instead, and we loved it.  I particularly liked it that the ending wasn't all Hollywoodised and they didn't end up living happily ever after (at least not together).  At least some of the enjoyment derived from the film, was the unexpectedness (and cheapness) of it all.

5) I agree with you that there is very little choice at the Multiplex.  They often seem to have the same 2 or 3 big films showing in about 9 of the screens, and the rest of them are showing Vince Vaughns, Adam Sandlers or Kate Hudsons, films which are usually so bad (Wedding Crashers for example) that you can feel the minutes of your life positively being flushed down the toilet as you watch.  When you're wading through a turdfield like that it's a shame the lights aren't on, or you could while away the 90 minutes going through some coffin brochures, to minimise the admin for your relatives after you're gone.

6) I agree that 3-D is a complete waste of time.  I saw Avatar in it, and totally fell asleep (the love story sucks), I've accidentally seen a couple of other films in 3-D because when I arrived at the cinema, it wasn't showing in 2-D.  To paraphrase Jim Royle (who said widescreen is 'the same shite only wider'), I would like to advance the argument that '3-D is 'the same shite only nearer'.

I used to live in a caravan when I was younger (it's a long story, something to do with my dad dying) and I watched 'Some Like it Hot' and also 'Call Northside 777' on a teeny tiny black and white TV, which we used to run off a car battery.  As the battery ran out of charge, the picture used to get smaller.  But I can assure you, that even sitting in a caravan being bereaved and watching old black and white movies on a shrinking screen powered by a car battery was better than 'Avatar' in 3D.  Because those two shrinking black and whitey's held my attention, something Avatar totally failed to do.  I'm not saying I could have done any better.  I couldn't have knocked up something as good as that in my back garden, with a few tins of blue paint, a couple of trees and some tall people.  I'm sure it was technically very difficult.  But it's stories I'm interested in, not technology.

7) Finally, I also write film reviews sometimes, and in nature, they probably resemble more closely the ones you used to do as a child.  I doubt they have all of your five elements in.  Mostly it's still just about me. what I thought, and how I felt at the time.  Sometimes, you wouldn't have the faintest idea what the film was about, from one of my reviews.  But I love doing them, and one of the best bits is I usually make myself laugh.  As I often say, frequently after I've had a row with my wife, and we're not speaking, 'you're never lonely if you can make yourself laugh'.

So, in summary, thanks for the book, and keep doing the reviews.  Although I don't agree with you on everything, I like your honesty and enthusiasm.  Also, sometimes your reviews prevent me wasting time and money at the local multiplex seeing American romantic comedies, which has to be a good thing.

By the way, my local independent cinema is the Arc in Stockton.  I've seen some right garbage there, but also some real gems like Another Earth and Sound it Out.  So, if you're ever up here seeing a film, get in touch.  You can come round for tea.

Symmetry, Loss, Letting Go, Life of Pi, Inception and Deja Vu

I went to see the Life of Pi movie last night.  I went by myself which is just as well because it cost me £11.  This was partly because I didn't want to wait an extra half an hour to watch it in 2D.  This would have saved me £3.  I really wanted a coffee too, but that would have been another £3, so I decided to have the 3D instead of the hot milk.

Even the cheap seats at the cinema now cost around £8.  With prices as high as these, I might have to keep going to the cinema by myself.  There's a bit in Trading Places when the really mean Duke brothers give one of their staff a very small Christmas bonus, and he says 'Gee thanks, maybe I'll go to the cinema....by myself'.  Well, now it's not just poor domestic servants that have to go by themselves, the prices are almost reaching personal loan proportions.

In last night's case, going alone wasn't entirely to do with the cost.  Ruth thought the book was garbage, so she didn't want to see the garbage film that went with it.

It was either 10 or 11 years ago that I read the book, I'm not sure which, but one thing I do know is that I read it over Christmas Day and Boxing Day, so going to see the film on Boxing Day had a nice symmetry to it.  I'm a big fan of symmetry.  Earlier in the year I took great delight in going to see Total Recall aged 44, 22 years after going to see the original when I was myself 22.  For good measure I took my 22 year old stepson with me to see the remake.  Numerologists could have a field day with that one.  The only problem being that the remake seemed to have been hit by the recession and instead of going to Mars they had to tunnel to Australia instead.  I was blown away by the special effects of the Arnie original but the Farrell affair just made me want to go to sleep.

Anyway, the film of 'Life of Pi' was pretty good, in places it looked stunning, but overall I think I preferred the experience of reading the book.  In the film, I could have done without the boat, and the phosphorescence, and the special effects and all the jazzy stuff they can do with computers now, the most compelling parts were listening to the older Pi talking.  In fact, I would have probably enjoyed it more, if it was just him talking.

Looking at it from a selfish point of view, it's possible I just didn't actually need this film to be made.  For me the experience of reading the book was such a rich and imaginative experience, that I already had all of it, and more, in my head.

There were times when I found the film very moving, and mostly these parts were created by a man sitting in a room talking to another man and recollecting stories from the past.  There was a point near the end, when I nearly started crying, but I managed to suppress it, because I didn't want anyone else to hear.  I was already wearing stupid 3D glasses over my own, I couldn't cope with any more embarrassment..

The part that got to me was when the older Pi was talking about the point where he and Richard Parker went their separate ways, and he said something like this, which I am paraphrasing terribly.  'Life is all about letting go, but what hurts is when there is no pause, no time to share what we've been through together, no time to acknowledge the passing, before we part'.  He was talking about the tiger, but also about his family, who were lost in the shipwreck.  This is maybe why it's so important for people to be with their loved ones, as they die.  Just to be aware of the process of letting go.

One of the things I love about the film Inception is the part where Leo finally realises that he has to let his wife go, and move on.  He finally accepts that they had their time, but now he has to go.  He has to move forward, and be with his children in the future.

And thinking about the subject of loss reminded me of another of my favourite films.  Deja Vu.  In that Denzel says 'Everything you have you lose', and although it's never explicitly stated, it seems likely that the family he no longer has, were lost in a terrorist attack, which partly explains his determination to change the past.  He makes a comment along the lines of 'loved ones gone in an instant', and his suffering is very much like that of Pi in Life of Pi, whose family are lost very suddenly and without warning.  This must be the hardest loss of all to take.  As miserable as losing someone to an illness is, at least you get used to their absence in increments.  It doesn't just go from all to nothing.

When I read Life of Pi, one of the parts I enjoyed the most were the descriptions of animals, and their behaviours, and this had more resonance with me at the time than the human stuff.  But I think 10 years on, the parts that stuck with me from the film, were the human dramas.  The decision to sell the animals and move to Canada, which took the family away from their home and their country, and Pi away from his girlfriend, and then the loss of Pi's family in the shipwreck, and finally the bonding with, and then the loss of Richard Parker.

I usually find it quite annoying when people in the cinema start talking, just as the credits start to roll, about how the film of their favourite book, wasn't as good as they expected, and how they missed this bit out, or that part was too long, or about how Galadriel isn't as tall as I imagined etc..

But I think that almost happened to me yesterday.  Because I'd already seen the extended edition 10 years ago, in my own head.  And I loved it.