Praha, city of towers

There is something lovely in the air of Prague, and it's not the drains. There's a romantic, anything is possible, wonderful feeling of lightness. Of course, it helped that we were there in Spring, and that we ran the Prague half-marathon, so there were a few endorphins bubbling around as well. Nonetheless, Prague was magnificent, beautiful, and one of the best mini-breaks we've had.

We arrived late on Friday night, after a more than usually frantic week at work, from the start

everything seemed to go our way - trains and tubes and planes were all there when we arrived, and soon we were rattling through Prague on a beaten up suburban bus to our hotel - even here when it seemed we were being conned it all turned out well - the hotel was all full, regretfully, management's fault, apologies, etc, etc, we were driven to another of their hotels, closer to the city centre. It turned out the place was gorgeous, was at the foot of the Charles bridge, with views to the castle and St Nicholas church, in a loft suite, but best of all, it was close to where the run started ...

We woke Saturday a little nervous - with little training we didn't really know what to expect. Breakfast was a buffet with one of the grumpiest people I have ever met - she harrumphed at every attempt at personableness and stalked in and out. We decided to cram in some sightseeing before the run, so we strolled over Charles bridge, a gently curving platform over the river Vltava with tremendous medieval gatehouses at either end, and sculptures of religious figures, particularly saints martyred in Prague and nearby. We were there early, and had the bridge almost to ourselves, only locals out for a quick constitutional to share it with, and the views of Prague on either bank and stretching up the hill to the castle on the west were superb. We then wandered to old town square, home of the astronomical clock, twin towered church of our lady before tyn, and an Easter market. At the centre of the square is a massive and moving monument to Jan Hus. We wandered through the market and then strolled to the art nouveau city hall, decorated by many Czech artists who did not normally speak to each other, but agreed to collaborate on patriotic grounds and produced a sublime structure in which every surface, every medium has been decorated in intricate art nouveau style.

We then headed home, changed and prepared for the race, lots of water and bananas. It was now that the true fortuitousness of our hotel was made apparent, we dressed lighter than we would have had to with a long journey, and then discovered thousands of tourist swarming

over the Charles bridge and we forced our way through to get to the starting line. We made it in good time and stretched as 'eye of the tiger' and other motivational songs blared. The race gun was fired by none other than the President of the Republic, Vaclav Klaus. As we

streamed past the start line, walking, running, walking, Smetana's 'My Country' blasted from the speakers - it was the most moving, and patriotic (in a good way) race start I've ever experienced.

The run itself was exhilarating, past beautiful buildings and over lovely bridges we all streamed, and as we ran, the weather improved from threatening rain to sunny with a few puffy clouds, perfect temperature as we headed north and doubled back through the old town, past many music stands where Czech bands played to the runners - we realised our pace quickened each time, as we ran to the Czech metal and rock bands along the way. People cheered and waved us on, and we felt on top of the world as the sun shone, the beauty of Prague overwhelmed us and we got closer to the finish line. High points were running over cobbled old streets through the old town, through an easter market with the smell of cinnamon and potato rolls, past beautiful

buildings from medieval to 20th century, which all showed a sensibility for harmonious blending of the past with the new, and going out of the tourist strips to parts of Prague we never would have seen, suburbs and ordinary streets, the Staropramen brewery. Finally we were finished, and as we filed past the finish line, a girl shook my hand and put a finisher medal over my neck, strangely humbling and exhilarating, and then we were eating and drinking until our stomachs

hurt, and trying to stretch out the soreness (and in my case cramps!).

We were on such a high afterwards, we practically danced home, and freshly showered headed out to see the Mucha exhibition. We discovered that we had both loved his work from almost childhood, and the museum was a delight, small and intimate and detailing his life, his time in Paris and the USA and return home, his crowning achievement of synthesising the Slavic narrative into a unified whole. It was wonderful but by the end we were exhausted and footsore, coming down from the high of the run. So we headed for a pub, and got our electrolyte fix the only way you can in the Czech republic - with beer. Much beer, or Pivo, which I am reliably informed is the same in all Slavic languages, which I think shows an admirable set of priorities for the language group. We drank and ate stodgy dough-like bread, boiled like bagels and whiter than any white bread, stew and deep fried onion rings with a sea of what looked like mustard and indeed turned out to be mustard.

Then, full, happy and a little drunk, we wandered to the little St Nicholas, on the old town square, for the apogee - the baroque musical recital in a baroque church. The soloist was a little dwarf like smiling man who nevertheless retained an iron grip on his little orchestra, and plunged with fiendish glee and panache into Handel, Bach, Vivaldi and Mozart's 'Prague' Symphony, beautiful and lyrical evocation of the city. As they played, most on baroque instruments, we looked up into the muted darkness of the dome, filled with baroque illustrations of the fall of man, god's mercy, and other wonders. As we sat on the pews I reflected on this divine music, in a divine setting, the way the Czechs seemed to have effortlessly produced beauty at every turn, but I suppose that the labour and perhaps pain and heartache are hidden from us by history, until only the brightness of their achievements remain. After the concert finished we hadn't had enough of the night so searched for a bar, finding a Cuban one that had fantastic music but standing room only, we took pity on our aching legs and kept searching. Just as we had given up, near our hotel, we found a cosy, bohemian wine bar, full of locals talking animatedly. We took the last two seats, right up at the bar, and discussed Czech wines with the knowledgeable woman behind the bar. She was keen for us to try distinct wines of her country, and we sampled and chatted and enjoyed the magical Prague night.

Sunday was a little greyer, and my victory for the day was achieving the impossible, getting our tetchy lady at the breakfast room to make us omelettes fresh. With a good all you can eat buffet behind us, we trekked up the hill towards the church of which the lonleyplanet noted 'if you only see one baroque church in Prague, make it this one'. And wow, St Nicholas' church didn't disappoint - every surface seemed to be decorated, a riot of green and pink marble, gold, sombre paintings and more gold statuary. We were allowed to climb the stairs and look down on it all from the gallery.

Then we continued our trek upwards to the castle. The immense complex broods above Prague from a spur, and inside is a warren of beautiful but stark courtyards, the massive bulk of St Vitus' cathedral, and a rather lovely if a little long display of the history of the castle, from prehistoric to the modern day in a dazzling array of exhibits. Hilarious for us were the detailed and useful labels next to every exhibit - the three young women at the ticket booth had engaged in vicious upselling to the poor befuddled Irish pensioners before us, basically directing them to pay more for the audioguides because there was no english explanations throughout the castle. The exhibit was superb, but, as I mentioned, a little long, which perhaps accounted for them offering, at the exit, a quick recap of all the major parts of the exhibition in one summary!

We also managed to take in the changing of the guard. When we got there, it seemed thousands of tourist hemmed in the guards. One guard, charged with keeping them back from the sacred spaces on which the incoming guards would tramp, impressed us with his cool, polite, calm but very insistent moving of tourists from in front of the lines. Given the tourists behaved like a ravening pack of rabble turned out to see the Christians fed to the lions, his grace under pressure was remarkable. By the end of the ordeal, I wanted to shake him by the hand for remaining human and calm in those circumstances. The changing of the guard was impressive as they marched towards the gates, exactly as I imagined they had done for centuries, come to relieve their fellows. By turns sombre and jolly the trumpets played as they clashed arms, saluted, formed, marched and eventually changed. It was almost worth being kneed in the back by a million Spanish grandmothers who wanted to use my head as a tripod (I'm not joking), or who had no compunction in delivering a discreet kidney blow to get me out of the way.

We then decided, perversely, to wait in the queue to get into St Vitus. We managed to eat most of our lunch in that queue. True, the cathedral was stunning, with stained glass completed in the 20th century by the likes of Mucha, beautiful and clear and startlingly bold in colour, and the

room in which I think St Vitus' remains are stored was a wonder, precious stones patterning the walls and medieval frescoes above them, the bones stored in a cathedral shaped coffin.

Then we were out, down the hill, legs still a little sore on the hundreds of steps, and finally to another pub for more beer, garlic soup and a strange salad. We headed out for the airport, on the same old suburban bus, rattling past suburbs that reminded me inexplicably of Helsinki, and then green and rocky spurs, and wooded hillsides, to the airport. The flight and arrival, despite them cancelling our entire tube line, flew by, and we arrived home a little breathless but happy, still smiling from the magic of the city of Prague.

Just back from Ireland

Walked in the door, later than hoped due to tube, will blog more tomorrow I hope.

Off to Cannock Chase! (Staffordshire)

A very exciting moment! We get to mountain bike after all this time! We are off to Cannock chase in Staffordshire where there is a free bike testing this weekend! We're both so excited to be getting back on the mtbs again - will post pics of us getting up to bikely fun when we get back!

Cymru am byth

We had originally booked a couple of days in South Wales because of a mountain bike testing day being held. To our dismay it was cancelled due to a fortnight of snow and rain. Only mildly gutted about the lost opportunity to do some mountain biking, we decided some serious hiking was in order to quench our outdoors thirst (conveniently ignoring the fact that we didn’t have snow shoes).

They say boredom is relative to expectation

First stop was Cardiff, on a comfortable express train that made me green as it tipped sideways at the corners. After reading the damning report in the Lonely Planet we had very low expectations indeed. And as it turned out, we loved it. 

Cardiff was gorgeous, lively, full of lovely people with singsong accents. Our B&B was run by a gay couple and so was immaculately and beautifully presented, with the most comfortable bed I have ever slept in and the best vegetarian breakfast we’ve had yet.

We strolled out into the crisp evening to find some dinner and before we could even hit the centre we chanced upon a vegetarian restaurant, run by an incredibly friendly Indian man who was happy enough to let us bring in grog as long as he didn’t have to touch it (ie they gave us a bottle opener to use).

Castles and haystacks

Just about chomping at the bit to get outdoors, we picked up a car and headed straight to the Brecon Beacons National Park, one of the largest and wildest parks in Wales. We couldn’t resist the opportunity to do a little historical sightseeing on the way, so we stopped by Caerphilly castle. Built in 1268-1271 by the Anglo-Norman lord, Gilbert de Clare, it is the second largest castle in the United Kingdom (after Windsor). 

Gilbert 'the Red' de Clare, a powerful Norman nobleman built it as a response to a dispute between him and the Prince of Gwynedd, Llywelyn the Last. Towards the end of the 14th century it went into decline after much of the castle was abandoned as a major fortress.We were entertained during our picnic lunch by a highschool rendition of Oliver in the town square, complete with elaborate costumes and ….Finally we made it to the visitor centre at the Brecon Beacons.

It was still getting dark around 16.30 so we joined the hordes of dog walking and tobogganing families in pottering around the immediate area. The snow was beautiful and the area of the park no less magnificent for less than remote. We even managed to watch the sunset over the white hills as we stomped our way through the snow.

Peaks and bogs

We were determined to get a bit further out today so we took an early breakfast, swaddled ourselves in various layers and waterproof fabrics, and headed for the imposing peak of Pen y Fan. Formerly known as Cadair Arthur (Arthur's Seat) Pen y Fan is the highest peak in South Wales. Getting there proved to be less straightforward than we expected. Our way was blocked by a lone walker who had gotten stuck trying to reverse back down the road, which he had decided the car was not going to make.

Our repeated attempts at pushing, heaving, and digging came to nothing at all. We left him there helplessly and reversed back down the road, only to get our own tiny rental toy stuck as we were trying to park. Our saviours arrived in army fatigues in a big truck, with a pack of dogs for company. 

They dug us out and gritted our wheels in about 30 seconds, and we were out, just like that. They then went up and dug out the lone walker, taking another 30 seconds or so to accomplish the deed. They then roared up the hill in their truck without a moment’s pause or any sign of hesitation from the truck. Amazing.

So off we went, chirpy as ever, Sean playing with the dogs for as long as he could. The snow was deep and the mountains high. Although there was a couple of other walkers there (to our surprise given the weather) it still felt remote and wild. Fortunately our walking guide had already warned us that Pen y Fan is also known as The Deceiver, or we may have been heavily disappointed each time we came to the top of a false summit and saw the mountain continue to stretch ahead of us... 

We rolled all the way back down in the snow and bundled back into the toy, thankfully had no more boggings and no troubles getting back on the road and bumped our way back to Cardiff. It was pouring with rain when we arrived, so we resigned ourselves to a warming beer and a welsh meal before heading to the train station for our stomach-wrenching express home.

Update from London

Our epic blog from the festive season is still under construction but I thougth I would take a quick minute to put up a couple of things from the last month. 

One of the highlights was a visit to Salisbury and Stonehenge. We took the train out with our bikes, and stayed in the great hostel in Salisbury which is in a huge old house. 

As my good friend Malin reminded me, this is what Eddie Izzard had to say about Stonehenge - 

"And we had the Druids! Long white robes, long white beards, early transvestites, didn't get their shaving together; and they built Stonehenge, one of the biggest henges in the world. No one's built a henge like that ever since. No one knows what the fuck a henge is! ... But they built Stonehenge, and it's built in an area called Salisbury Plain in the South of England. The area of Salisbury Plain where they built it is very ( eerie chanting ), ‘cause that's good, you know. It's a mystical thing; build it in a mystical area. 

You don't want to build it in an area that's (singing upbeat jazzy tune). No, there you build Trump Tower. But yeah, so they built it there. And the stones! The stones are 50 foot high, 30 foot long, 20 foot deep, and other measurements as well! And they’re not from ‘round there, that's the amazing thing! Remember, this is B.C.. This was before the B.C./A.D. changeover,when everyone was going, “Is it A.D. yet?”. ... So, yeah, the stones are from 200 miles away,in Wales, so these guys in Wales were obviously carving the rocks out of the very living mountain... 

"Fantastic, building a henge, are we? That's a fantastic idea! That's a marvelous religion the Druids have got! Yes, got a lot of white clothing, I like that. There we go!" And they smashed out a huge stone and then they put tree trunks down to roll it along on."

Disappointed to have arrived too late on Saturday night to visit Stonehenge in the evening, we bundled into bed and set our alarms for a pre-dawn start. And what a magnificent morning it was. Perfectly clear and crisp (temps somewhere below zero), with just a few clouds scuttling past the bright full moon, we rode along the rolling hills of Wiltshire in complete quite - the world felt utterly still. When we arrived at stonehenge the moon was just fading and the sunrise was making a magnificent display of pinks and purples on the horizon. It felt like a show put on just for us. Unfortunately we didn't get many legible photos, it was a tad freezing and dark and they are all completely blurry. 

We returned to the hostel for a hearty breaky of stale (cold) croissants and cold baked beans, and headed off to see the famous sights of Salisbury. Salisbury began as an iron age fort 2500 years ago. It was fought over by the Saxons and Celts in 552, and then completely abandoned, logically. Still, the area resettled and came under William the Conqueror's eye, who built a wooden castle. 

It was subsequently a very succesful town in the middle ages and it is now home to one of the finest medieval cathedrals in Britain, which may or may not also have the tallest spire. It is quite lovely. It also houses one of the remaining copies of the Magna Carta, I think by a historical quirk and for no good reason that we could find.

Amusingly, London came to a standstill on Monday when London had its heaviest snowfall in some 15 odd years (every paper gives a different number but it is quite awhile). Many people didn't go to work at all, the schools closed and 90% of public transport shut down. Luckily Sean and I had our trusty bikes, so I was one of 3 who turned up to work out of 7. (Sean was one of 3 as well but I'm not sure about his usual numbers).

Since we were so proud, I put together a picture journey of our ride to work - http://picasaweb.google.com/pritajobling/LondonSnow?authkey=U7Ar_HE1LGw&feat=directlink

Due to the snow we both got an early mark from work, perfect way to finish a great day.

Northern exposure - Christmas in the festively frozen Helsinki

There is nothing quite like the crisp stillness of a morning in Helsinki, or the sound of ice sheets clinking against each other in the harbour as we ran past, or the sight of Stockholm archipelago with shimmering water, boats everywhere and stately houses. There is nothing like the quiet reflectiveness of the north.

We arrived in Helsinki later than hoped, but a short taxi and there were Annabel and Jaakko waiting for us - they took us into our beautiful warm apartment, converted from a factory, all stylish lines and ikea furniture and gave us glögi, the warm drink of spirits/juice/spices and whole almonds and currants that you drink and scoop out the almonds and spices, festive and warming.

Finnish Glögi
1/2 litre black currant juice
1 bottle red wine
1 stick of cinnamon
6-12 cloves
1 dl vodka (or koskenkorva)
Raisins
Blanched almonds

Mix the red wine in with juice and the spices. Heat, but do not let boil. Turn off the heat and add the vodka. Put some raisins and almonds in each cup and pour in the still hot Glögi.

Christmas eve dawned bright and clear - we went for a lovely jog around the island that Annabel and Jaakko live on. In the afternoon, at dusk (about 3pm) we met up and walked to the cemetery, where hundreds of people converged - in the dusk candles glimmered everywhere on the graves, marking a loved one. It was beautiful and moving. We saw many graves of famous Finns, with many candles, and a monument to those killed in war with many candles on it. We walked up a short hill to where a massive cross was surrounded by people and prayers and hymns were sung, incomprehensible and solemn. Then we found Jaakko's grandmother's grave and he lit a candle and placed it there. It was one of the most beautiful and moving sights I have seen.

Christmas day and we woke in the dark, and piled on our warm clothes and went for a run past the bays and cemetery, all quiet in the still morning. Then we hauled presents and food over to Annabel and Jaakko's place and had a wonderful day talking to family, relaxing, eating delicious Finnish food, drinking Glögi and watching the Hollowmen, a lovely bit of Australia. 

Annabel and Jaakko had made us the most beautiful gingerbread house - very traditional apart from the kangaroo on the front lawn!! Best of all we got to sit in front of a roaring fire, on the TV! complete with a burning log scented candle. Christmas Day had all the usual necessities - great food, lovely drink, fantastic company, with the added scenic benefits that come with the winter christmas. We took a post lunch walk down to the bay and around some of the island.

 It was beautiful in its winter starkness. It felt still and quiet, even though the path was bubbling with joggers, walkers, strollers and dogs. When we eventually rolled back across to our little apartment we were brimming with full stomachs and good cheer and contentment.
The highlight of the trip for Sean came on Boxing day when he got a boys trip to the Sauna, followed by an obligatory post-sauna trip to the pub.

This authentic Finnish experience was followed by a less authentic but fun Aussie night. We all went to see Baz's Australia and then finished off the evening in the Aussie Bar (which likes to boast that we are all descended from convicted sheep theives). Despite my policy of generally avoiding Australian alcohol overseas (gotta try the local stuff you know) we were delighted to have our first Coopers Ale since leaving home. There's nothing quite like its bottle-brewed goodness.

The rest of our magnificent time in Helsinki was taking in the Finish vibe in galleries, beautiful streetscapes and sculpture, and a great Finnish restaurant, and frozen picnic lunches eaten outdoors with frozen fingers.

And then came the sad morning that we had to leave - Annabel and Jaakko took us off to the ferry terminal for a trip to the Estonian medieval city Tallin.

Tallin was fantastic. Beautiful, charming, and lively but without crushing crowds of tourists. Jaakko accompanied us, his last trip had been before the breakdown of the Soviet Union. We pottered around the gorgeous town, visiting ancient churches and buildings, including the incredible Russian Orthodox church that looms over the town and positively sparkles when the sunlight reflects off the gold mosaics and paints. A highlight was having lunch in a medieval restuarants, that serves only food and drink that was available in medieval times (including honey ale), on crockery that was available at the time, and decorated with medieval sheilds and tapestries and swords. It sounds so tacky, but it was actually great. The ale was fantastic and novel, mine was a cinnamon ale and Jaakko's a strange herby one that was very interesting. The vegetarian selection was surprisingly good too, and surprisingly varied. The menu even suggested we could pay in rabbit skins, but I didn't try this one as I had left my rabbit skins in left luggage. We went with the very medieval eftpos machine instead.

We said sad goodbyes to Jaakko, and then it was onto another ferry, this one much larger, and bound for Stockholm. We settled into our little berth as the ferry moved slowly out into the night ...

Where the streets have no name - Derry and Belfast - NI part 2

We stayed in a gorgeous B&B in Derry with the essentials - homely twee bed spreads, a slightly eccentric host and a lovely German couple. By night and in the morning we explored Derry - a walled city that still seems to hold on dearly to it's siege history - the walls ringed with cannon, tales of the locking out of Catholic troops. On the drive back to Belfast we took the inland route and snow lay on all the hills and fields. When we got to Belfast we decided to walk up Cavehill - a large outcrop that looms over the city. The walk was beautiful, passing Belfast castle, then neolithic caves which had been carved into the side of the hill (hence the name) and stood on the summit in the icy wind and watched as a whole troop of people came past us playing a sort of chaotic golf with mallets over the mountain along a path of flags - we were almost hit by the hard flying balls a few times and were not surprised when at the end of the host of players there were five first aiders along!!

We descended a different way and got lost, finding ourselves separated from where we wanted to be by a large chasm - it was just like a rogaine! We worked our way around and eventually back to the car. Then down to Belfast proper - we ate our lunch in the botanic gardens and

explored - we had hoped to go to the museum but it was all boarded up, no signs, just very closed. We made our way to our hotel, an od converted large house, with an odd old chap who

argued with us over the price that had been agreed but then seemed happy enough, the house was all musty rugs and creaking staircases. We dropped our bags and jumped into the black cab

waiting for us, this was one of the black cab tours of the murals. Our cabbie, Conor, was close about whether he was one side or the other, but told awful stories of violence on both sides, of

the celebration of murderers by both sides in their mural, and his view that Catholics had killed more of their own over the years than protestants, and vice versa. It was incredibly moving and stark to hear the tales, see the murals, have the bullet holes and still abandoned buildings pointed out to us. We saw the monstrous peace wall, and then, it being dark, had to find a gate still open in the wall. How surreal then to drive back into the centre of Belfast and find shoppers exploring all the big name stores, and a Christmas market and ferris wheel in full swing at the town hall - scenes of peaceful opulence that contrasted sharply with what we had just seen. We thanked our guide - it felt that perhaps it would open raw wounds to keep telling people these stories but what he told us, anyway, was that he felt telling people about it was a way to make sure it didn't keep happening - there were complexities that we didn't pick up on, or hear of, but the profound sense that all sides were caught in a perpetuating cycle (dating back hundreds of years to the 'red hand of Ulster') was intensely felt in his quiet talking.

We explored the market, drinking red wine and browsing, and then set off in search of dinner, not finding much as, a lesson we should have learned in Derry, the Irish eat early, really early. As Prita joked, Spanish and Irish meal times were a perfect match - as the Spanish sat down to lunch, the Irish could sit down to dinner ...

But we stumbled on a wonder instead, the Crown Liquor Saloon, which has the honour of being one of only two pubs owned by the National Trust - and you can see why - an ornate, stunning interior, each surface decorated, with pews and lecterns more fit for a high church, and on top of that fine Guiness and ales and other stouts by the pint - what could be finer!

We had a few and then headed for dinner, sleep and our early return to London.

More photos of the trip can be found here

Stansted to Giant's Causeway - NI part 1

Last weekend we flew from Stansted to Belfast. 

I love the anticipation of travel. We woke in the dark (actually that's not that surprising at the moment), piled on all our warm layers until we looked like bundled up paddington bears (mostly because it was freezing outside but also so we could fit everything else in our hand luggage) and made our way by tube and then overground train to the airport. Ryanair was a new experience for me - you have to queue up to get on the plan as there is no assigned seating. Actually I think Londoners really like to stand in queues - they queue for a bus, at sandwich shops, everywhere!

The flight was good, short and we could see sworls and valleys and peaks of cloud, with the Mourne mountains, the southern boundary of Northern Ireland, poking above them. We landed and jumped into our little Renault, after chatting with the kind car rental man with his sing song accent and finding about a thousand coloured brochures for what to do in NI, with the walks being top of our list. We motored past Belfast and to the coast, stopping to admire Norman castles and celtic crosses at

 Carrickfergus, and treat ourselves to tea and scones - served with butter instead of cream but oh the butter! And then on, past breakers, sea cliffs with the clouds pouring over the sides like waterfalls, sudden squalls and then to the glens. At Waterfoot we turned inland to explore them, where the glens all pile into each other in a mess of valleys and peaks which someone called 'switzerland in miniature'. We stopped at the deserted Glenariff forest park, stretched 

our legs and ate the last of our soda bread and strong Irish cheese with English mustard, and walked a short cicuit through the park. Sheep grazed and in the distance an impressive escarpment. We followed the path down into the glen, the sound of rushing water and then several beautiful waterfalls, the largest of them called the mane's tail, and everywhere dripping water from the ferns, cold and still apart from the rushing waters, we walked along the banks.

The trees were sparse but the undergrowth and ferns glowed with the mist and the afternoon sun. The hibernating woods were lovely, a sense of the green giant slumbering until spring.

We hopped back in the car, jealously going past the trail runners who had run circuits of the park, and got back onto the coast road. Unfortunately, as navigator, I had somewhat underestimated what time it gets dark over here in winter, and it was a close run thing to get to the Giant's Causeway - but we made it in the end - s

leeting and near dusk, we walked down off the cliffs to the mass of surf, waves breaking on a rocky coast, and then we were on the causeway itself, incredible hexagonal columns, marching towards the sea at differing heights, with islands out in the raging surf, a strange regular geometric world - it is easy to see how people thought this was built by the Giant Fionn mac Cumhaill. 

We explored until dark really had set in. On the way back to the visitors centre we cruched along the icy ground - we wanted the loos but discovered they were out of order - the pipes had frozen solid. We did find warmth and whiskey (Bushmills old) and toilets just down the road in the lovely friendly lit up Causeway Inn. We stayed for a few and then headed towards Derry.

Note the photos have been updated!!

Dear everyone,

Talk of quiet achievers. Thanks to Prita, there is now, catalogued and even with comments, a selection of photos from our honeymoon! They are split into the different areas we travelled to and are located down on the right side of the Blog.

I loved looking at them again and remembering a) what a wonderful, amazing, special time it was, and b) that sunshine does exist ...

First snow in London

Hello everyone

I'm working! Which is great. What's even greater is that we got paid yesterday, that's sort of up there with indescribably great.

But what I really wanted to write about was getting snowed on.

I had gone out (the one night I was glad I took the tube not bike) and met my friend Adrian, we had had a lovely relaxed drink and chat with him and I and his girlfriend Delia at the cafe in the National Gallery. Then we moved on to a fish and chip shop in Covent Gardens.

After our Cod (I refrained from telling them the Cod joke) and chips, we were chatting and I fancifully thought that the rain looked like it was floating - but then it really WAS! And suddenly it was snowing! It floated down all soft and silent, mostly melting on the ground but some remained. We walked to the tube station and on the way i started to resemble a giant snowman, my hair and jacket covered in white. Then I discovered I had a hole in my shoe. Cold. Really cold, and then into the subway and thankful for the first time that it is always stinking hot in the tubes.

I thawed,and getting out at Finsbury Park was just like getting onto the set of those last scenes of Bridget Jones (somehow become a cultural touchstone), the snow lay on the ground and footprints crisscrossed it. It was still snowing as I got on the bus and sat upstairs and watched it fall softly against the windows, rubbing the condensation out of the way so I could watch it all. It was enchanted and I knew it was because i saw something I hadn't seen yet - Londoners were smiling!

When I got home Prita was outside taking photos dressed in a big jacket. We hugged as we stood amongst the still falling snow.