Happy birthday, NTB

English Civil War re-enactment.
That's Muggins, over there on the far, far left.

Photo from Sir Thomas Tyldesley's Regiment of Foote FB page, edited by me.

Well, I’m back. As discussed in my immediately previous post, the main reason for spending ten days in England was to attend an English Civil War re-enactment at Marlborough in Wiltshire. I wouldn’t normally have made the effort, but it was the Norfolke Trayned Bandes’ fortieth birthday party. We’ve been re-enacting the Civil war for rather longer than the actual seventeenth-century event.

Having arrived in Plymouth in the wee hours, courtesy of Qatar Airways and National Express coaches, I grabbed some sleep and then enjoyed the first of a series of hearty English breakfasts. Huzzah for Nanny Goat! That evening, it being Nephew #1’s eighteenth birthday, I took him down the pub and force-fed him beer. He’d obviously never drunk beer in a pub before. As I’d not had any ‘proper’ real ale since last October, my first pint unsurprisingly hardly touched the sides. For shame! Nephew #1 was to get his birthday present a few days later, wherein he’d hurl himself from a serviceable aircraft in a tandem skydive. I’ve seen the photos, but as they’ve STILL not been uploaded on to social media, my plan to post one here still sits firmly in the Pending tray.

At last. Over a year later I've finally got the pic.

Nanny Goat had very kindly offered the use of her new car. She disposed of her ten-year-old City Rover earlier this year and purchased a very clean 2011 Toyota Aygo. It burns about half the petrol that the Rover did, which means 44mpg around town and an excellent 55mpg under my rather heavy right hoof on a long run. For the ECW muster trip I had a passenger, and by dropping the back seats this minuscule car swallowed all of our kit, a birthday cake, and had room to spare.

I am, in fact, not left-handed!

Speaking of kit, I rummaged in the attic and have rescued some of my other re-enactment costumes and hardware. I decided not to import my spring-steel cup-hilt rapier into the UAE, and that’s still languishing in England. For the weekend, I borrowed a massive tent, an air mattress, sleeping bag, etc. Only afterwards did I discover my old tent in Nanny Goat’s attic, by which time it was too late.

The weekend weather in Marlborough was truly excellent, except for one squally downpour that hit the campsite while I was halfway through erecting my tent. It was up sufficiently to provide shelter for several campers. Having established camp, I and several many Norfolkes headed off to the small but perfectly-formed beer tent. I deployed my recorder, and there was much singing well into the night. I’m mildly surprised how many songs I could remember after a gap of over sixteen years.

Drill occurred on Saturday morning after an unhealthy breakfast at the burger van and a second breakfast back at the Norfolkes’ campsite. Drill is a practice for the afternoon’s battle. As a drum wasn’t available, I took the opportunity to take photos. I’d not be taking a camera on to the field during the actual battle. Anyway, I’d have a drum and therefore no free hands.

Norfolkes engage Blackwells and Tyldesleys.
There might be a certain amount of violence.

And after drill, a small group including myself wandered down the hill into Marlborough in search of provisions and refreshment. The Town Council who were sponsoring the event as part of commemoration of the real Siege of Marlborough (December 1642) wished members to go into town in full seventeenth-century kit. Several went armed with swords. 

At the Green Dragon Inn, there were real ales for sale, left over from a recent beer festival, at a splendid £2 a pint (which is nearly half-price for Dyne Sythe). I confessed that my tankard held slightly more than a pint; the landlord thanked me for my honesty and filled it to the brim anyway. As I was dressed like a Hobbit, I found it necessary to play music from Lord of the Rings in the bar (to applause) and then we retired to the beer garden for pipe-weed and more music. And more ale, I confess.

Birthday cakes.

The Norfolkes’ 40th birthday party was at the campsite after the battle, where much cake, booze, and food was consumed.

And then on Sunday, we did it all again, except that this time the Royalists won.

Back to Plymouth, and to my delight Nanny Goat had had her new internet delivered. She’s now decided to drag herself into the 21^st century. “Old Mrs Brady is 86 and she uses Skype and Facebook. If she can do it…”

Plymouth Sound.

I unpacked the modem/router and plugged it in. It was ready to go after about five minutes. There was no computer in the house except for my telephone. After trips to the computer shops, Nanny Goat has decided she wants a tablet computer. Something that’ll do email, Skype, and a bit of web browsing. She’s taking lessons and advice from her tech-savvy grandson, my Nephew #2, and will probably pick up a Samsung Galaxy for a knock-down discount when the 2015 models start to appear. Incidentally, I’m astounded to see Nanny Goat gets over 12Mbps, and she pays a mere £5 per month more than for just the telephone landline. The router is free.

Speaking of Nephew #2, my sister suggested that he might like to spend some quality time with his uncle, so the two of us went karting. He’s about half my weight, so unsurprisingly quicker on the track. To my irritation, I only discovered that it was possible to do the tight chicane at full throttle during the third and final session on the track. Nanny Goat took pictures, politely declining the opportunity to demonstrate to us how karting should be done.

Nephew in Kart 9 gives chase to his XXL uncle in Kart 10

Kart 9 overtakes Kart 10.

All too soon, I was back in Dubai with a suitcase stuffed with liquorice from Tiger Treats of Looe, and historical costume and hardware but no sword. Beloved Wife, recently returned from nearly a month in the United States, would be off to Budapest in a day or so, and would I like to come?

And so it came to pass that I hardly had time to download my photos before the pair of us were off to Hungary for a few days. But that’s another story for another blog post.

]}:-{>

Tour of the UAE

Picture: Gulf News

Nanny Goat is in town this week. The Goat’s sister came up with a brilliant plan that Nanny Goat should visit her favourite first-born male child because he’d quite obviously be unable to cope for the two weeks that Beloved Wife would be away. Because, of course, several years of domestic wedded bliss have cause the Goat to forget everything he ever knew about shopping and cooking and cleaning. Oh my.

Beloved Wife is now back in Dubai, and Nanny Goat is still here. For entertainment, the Goat has taken his mother to the top of Jebel Al Jais in Beloved Wife’s newly-repaired car, he’s taken her around the Dubai Gold Souq and the Spice Souq, they’ve been to Sharjah Central Souq, and been out to dinner. The 2014 Entertainer book – full of BOGOF vouchers – has already paid for itself, and we’re only just into February.

The Goat did suggest that, if Nanny Goat fancied a ride on the Goat’s motorcycle, she should bring appropriate footwear. Jackets, gloves and helmets would be easily handled in Dubai, but not boots. And as she was game, this Friday the Goats rode over to Hatta Fort Hotel to avail themselves of the splendid Biker Breakfast. In order to allow this to happen, the Goat had to promise that he would keep his right wrist under a very tight rein, and would also undertake to practise none of that footrest-scraping, knee-dragging behaviour more suited to the Dubai Autodrome, but quite common on the mountain roads near Hatta and Kalba. And, as it turns out, the Goat has discovered that he does indeed have sufficient self-discipline.

Nanny Goat said afterwards that she really did enjoy the ride, the view, and the breakfast. The only problem was getting on and off the pillion seat of a Kawasaki 1400 GTR, which is up in the stratosphere. Beloved Wife says Nanny Goat is very brave.

The route chosen was coincidentally be very similar to Day 3 of the Tour of Dubai bicycle race. During the cycle racing, the roads would be shut to general traffic, but the Goats planned to be out of Hatta and back in Dubai probably before the pelaton left the start line. It was a bit disconcerting to see the ‘50km to finish’, ‘20km to finish’, ‘Hill Climb Ahead’ signs set up for the cycle race. Jeez, the Goat has trouble maintaining more than 20km/h on a bicycle around the gentle grades of Mirdif! Those world-class cyclists must be unbelievably fit.    

“Unbelievably fit” is not how the Goat would now describe himself, especially following a Hatta Fort Hotel Biker Breakfast followed by Second Breakfast. And there’s a pizza party tonight; Beloved Wife wishes to fire up the outdoor oven. Sic Transit Gloria Diet.

]}:-{>

Stalwart fellow

An Alvis Stalwart. Not a Fiat 500

According to reports on the British telly, 2012 was the wettest year since 2000, and that was the wettest since records began. Beloved Wife and Goat arrived in a damp but mild Blighty just before Christmas, and headed from the Heathrow terminal by fun-bus to collect the extremely Budget rental car. And the rain started.

The Goat has picked the cheapest available car from a rental firm that he’d actually heard of, and ended up with a Peugeot 107 (which is identical to a Citroën C1 apparently), a minuscule five door hatchback suitable for five adults and their luggage. Human adults, each carrying more than an iPad? Probably not. They wuz havin’ a giraffe, innit? As it turned out, neither Budget nor Avis could find a Peugeot 107, having left it behind a waste paper basket, and thus offered a free upgrade to a Fiat Cinquecento. Joy: only three doors, but a tarmac-rippling 1200cc powerhouse instead of a mere 1000cc from Peugeot-Citroën.

The Goat flattened the rear seats and shoehorned both suitcases into the back of the Fiat, and then set off with Beloved Wife and her new GPS (Clarissa II) attached by suction cup to the windscreen. New Clarissa had some interesting ideas. Instead of the most obvious route from Heathrow to Plymouth, which is along the M4 to Bristol and then M5 to Exeter and A38 to Plymouth, Clarissa decided that the A303 was cheaper, shorter, and would burn less fuel. The Goat was too tired to argue, and so the A303 it was.

In the dark and in the rain, the bendy comedy roads were a rude awakening for a Goat who’s not driven in the UK for nearly two years. But he reminded himself that these were the conditions on every driving lesson he ever took, way back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.

Somewhere between Yeovil and Taunton, the increasingly-erratic Clarissa decided that a jolly around some tiny country lanes was in order. They got smaller and damper until one lane involved a rather deep puddle. The Goat figured that as the grass verges were visible, the puddle could be forded. Onward! More narrow bendy roads, no other traffic, no signs of civilisation. No, wait, a village (Ottery St Catchpole, or something) with a church and pub, and then more lanes and another puddle. This time, the Goat had seen red tail lights ahead, and he figured that a main road must surely be near. The puddle got deeper and deeper. It was time for bottom gear and slipping the clutch. Beloved Wife held her breath. The only sound for hundreds of metres was the bubbling of a submerged exhaust, a revving Fiat engine, and mumbling that “If I have to get out and push, I’m gonna divorce him.”

A nearby upturned wheelie bin indicated probably 15 inches of water, and the rest was creeping through the door seals and soaking the carpets. Clarissa declared that a right turn was in order at a T junction, but as this was in the direction of a river, the Goat turned left in the hope of finding higher, and more to the point, drier, ground. Beloved Wife breathed again as the Fiat shook itself dry and drove past the back of a “Flood. Road Closed” sign.

The Fiat 500 Stalwart performed faultlessly before, during, and after this incident. Fifteen inches (which is 381mm in Centigrade) is well beyond the design parameters and the warranty, one suspects. A filthy tide-mark halfway up the doors was soon washed away by the rain, but the leaves and twigs remained stuck in the car’s teeth for the whole holiday.

Foul weather continued. The national news carried stories and video showing that the main West Coast rail line had been washed away in Devon (again), and a landside near Swindon had effectively killed all rail services between London and the South West and Wales. The Goat’s decision made months previously to rent a car rather than rely on public transport had been vindicated.

A quick shout-out to Tiger Treats of Looe, a traditional sweet shop recently purchased by some of the Goat’s very old friends. This was part of some pre-Christmas tourism, that also included the magnificent Burne-Jones (yes, that Burne-Jones, and constructed by William Morris both associated with the PRB) window in St Germans church. Tiger Treats specialises in liquorice, and the Goat insisted that they be cleaned out of Spogs, that are otherwise inexplicably Not Coming In Dubai.

St Germans church. The Burne-Jones window

Following Christmas presents chez Nanny Goat, everyone trooped over to the Goat’s sister and family for dinner, which was predictably huge, unsurprisingly excellent, and was followed by the inevitable tryptophan coma.

A brilliant plan to drive up to Dartmoor for a brisk Boxing Day walk was thwarted by the unutterably foul weather. There were crazies running a lap (or more, who knows?) of the road around a full to overflowing Burrator Reservoir. Beloved Wife wanted warmth and dryness. This was first provided by Fiat, and then by the local cinema. On the subject of cinema, the Goat drove over Sheepstor, which is where some scenes from War Horse were filmed. Beloved Wife was not too fed up of water to see Life of Pi, a film involving a tiger and the entire Pacific ocean.

Burrator Reservoir, full to overflowing

Beloved Wife and Goat took the Goat’s youngest nephew to see The Hobbit the following day, before leaving to see various of the Goat’s other old friends. Thank you for your hospitality, everyone. At random, the Goat took Beloved Wife to Winchester to see the oldest pub in England (since 1030AD, allegedly) and the even older cathedral. And they also seized a brief respite from rain to visit Portchester Castle (since about 200AD)

Portchester Castle

The nave of Winchester Cathedral.
Given that it was Sunday and all the wards and protections would surely be in place, the Goat still managed to get in. He's Lawful Good after all.

Eventually, early in 2013, the rain stopped for a couple of days. The Goat returned the rental car to Avis, who made no remarks concerning compost in the grille, and purchased Oyster cards to use on London’s public transport. Beloved Wife’s treat would be a London visit, including going to see the excellent show Wicked. And more Pre-Raphaelite art at the Tate, as it turned out. A bonus was a saunter along the banks of the Thames and Lambeth Palace; the walk from Green Park to Victoria turned out to be longer than expected, even if views of Buckingham Palace are better from ground level than from the Victoria Line.

Lambeth Bridge. Lovely weather for DUKWs

One thing that was surprising was how mild the weather was. Most of the population was in winter coats; the Goat and Beloved Wife found sweaters more than adequate to keep warm. How can this be, given the thinning of the blood and intolerance of cool weather that years in the Gulf are supposed to produce?

And Clarissa? Clarissa has been reset to devise either the "Fastest Route" or "Shortest Route", and none of this "Route that drowns fewest polar bears" nonsense.

]}:-{>

Christmas in America

There is far, far too much to write about in one blog post about What I Did Over Christmas, so I’ve split it into chapters.

Beloved Wife and Goat definitely wanted to travel away from the middle east over Christmas, and certainly wanted to be together for at least part of the time. The selection process finally boiled down to her family for Christmas, and meeting ex-Dubai refugees for the New Year.

Having more leave than the Goat, Madame set off a week earlier from Dubai, only to be bumped off the Emirates flight. How is it that the punter complies with every crossed T and dotted I of Emirates’ terms and conditions, turns up at the airport in good time to use her non-refundable, non-changeable ticket, only to be told that they’ve sold about 50 seats twice and no you don’t get to travel today? Compensation offered was a future free cattle class flight from Dubai to New York (and presumably back again). I’d have held out for business class and probably ended up with nothing more than a flea in my ear.

The Goat travelled a week later, ostensibly via United but actually by Qatar Airways, United and some minuscule jet-powered cigar tube that was late because of snow in Denver. The return journey involved larger aircraft and a whole different selection of airports.

Delays meant that the Goat was finally collected by Beloved Wife at 03:30 on Christmas Eve. He collapsed unconscious chez in-laws an hour or so later, but was up again a couple of hours later. Curse you, jet lag! You confuse the body and the mind. Beloved Wife suggested an early morning snoop around the local McMansions to see the festive bling adorning the houses.

From the sublime...

...to the hilariously ludicrous

Christmas was a fairly low-key family affair, with stockings, presents, food and drink. There were some splendid gifts that Beloved Wife had obtained during her recent trip to Kathmandu, including scarves and carpets. And this goes part way to explaining these three wise men.

Magi

Also books and booze. The Goat was going to be unable to bring the splendid bottle of vintage port from his brother-in-law back to Qatar. It would have to be consumed on American territory. Oh lackaday.

The rainy weather cleared up over Christmas and the temperature dropped. The numbers don’t look very scary, but 26 is frighteningly cold for Gulf residents when it’s in Fahrenheit.

Pre-arranged plans for after Christmas involved a road trip south, ultimately to Key West, which is about as far south as it’s possible to drive within mainland USA. Father-in-law said that we should borrow his car, a Toyota Avalon, mostly on the basis that it was big enough for the luggage and the passengers CJ and J that we’d be meeting in Miami, and it might even be reasonably economical unless the 3-litre V6 engine were thrashed. Like with rigidly-enforced 55, 65 or 70mph speed limits that was ever going to happen. As it turned out, the 22 miles per gallon on the car’s computer soon rose to 25, then 28 and more. At one point it even got to 31mpg, and remember these are those titchy American gallons.

The GPS was already pre-programmed with south-east USA, and as for voice prompts, Clarissa explains it all.

The non-negotiable appointments were to drop off Christmas presents with relatives in Jacksonville and meet CJ and J in Miami at a particular hotel near the airport and travel with them to Key West.

Perhaps the Goat could buy some motorcycle apparel in Daytona Beach.

Orlando is halfway down Florida, so it seemed sensible to drop in there. A trip to Universal Studios seemed to be in order.

It was surprising to note how much warmer the daytime temperatures were than even north Florida. 70F/21C. Cold at night, though, dropping to around 45F/8C.

Near Orlando is Cape Canaveral, so that’s a also a good place to visit.

Onwards, southwards and westwards. Key West is very much the End of the Road. Actually, Mile Zero of US Route 1 is in Key West, and is something of a tourist attraction. It’s right next to Ernest Hemingway’s house.

An uneventful yet picturesque trip back to Miami followed, including stops for shopping and photos. CJ was desirous of paddling in the ocean, so we all did this in the freezing cold water near Seven Mile Bridge. The one thing that we didn’t find time to do was dive. Beloved Wife and I had packed our qualifications, dive computers, swimmies and masks, but the ferocious itinerary simply didn’t allow a day of diving. Some other time, then. This despite the mid-winter temperature ranging from 80F/25C during the day to 60F/16C at night. No need for coats, then, although wetsuits would have been needed in the sea.

It’s quite a long way from Key West to Miami, but we found the airport and dropped off CJ and J without incident or hassle. Thank you Clarissa. Then immediately another 350 miles to the frozen north of Jacksonville to Beloved Wife’s relatives. Clearly we’d not misbehaved, and had been invited back. The following morning we drove the 450 miles back to North Carolina.

The trip ended up being some 2000 miles, and was faultless except for when the keyless ignition fob failed. Fortunately, it’s familiar technology to the Goat (who has a similar device on his motorbike) and was a simple fix with a new button battery. It would not do to be stranded in the back of beyond and unable to start the car.

A couple of days chilling, relaxing and running errands, before the great air-travel onslaught. Beloved Wife’s arrangement started two hours after the Goat’s, but we both arrived at our respective destinations within an hour of each other. And so did all our luggage, which was a bonus.

Now, about the next trip. Japan, perhaps?

]}:-{>

Donkeys and camels and goats. Oh my!

The Crumbling Villa is bursting at the seams. Instead of being populated by The Goat and his Beloved Wife, this week The Goat's howling herd has descended for some sunshine. Apparently it's cold, damp and snowing in Blighty, whereas here in the Lands of the Sand there is more sun that you can sheikh a stick at.

The two adults and their four kids are of course all having a riotous time, and The Goat has taken a week's leave of absence from his job. There was a plan to escape back to the office mid-week, but the savage itinerary set by the rellies who want to see everything and do it all doesn't allow this.

An outstanding and long-standing promise involving a large motorcycle and some nephews has been discharged. After The Goat borrowed a spare helmet, the ten-year-old rode pillion to Sandy Beach and the 13yo rode on the trip back. Yes, yes, Bad Goat... Everybody else went in the Goatmobile. Sandy Beach advertised its wares with a large sign in Reception warning potential punters that there were jellyfish in the sea. Following physical observation, 'a jellyfish' would perhaps have been nearer the mark. There were also sharks and barracuda, much to the delight of the young and not-so-young snorkellers.

We're all off to an aquarium to have a better look at some sharks today. Not Atlantis, though. Visiting Atlantis was limited to driving around the barrier reef and getting splashed by the enthusiastically rough sea. That'll learn Beloved Wife with her open-top car!

We all piled into two cars on another day and did part of the most recent Gulf News Fun Drive across the dunes. Clearly too easy because nobody got even slightly stuck, this trip was deemed a delight by the visitors. Of course, the Fossil Rock steep track was added to the itinerary, to the further delight of all. As well as picking through the dunes, the visitors busied themselves checking out the wildlife. No oryx; no gazelles. But plenty of the usual suspects.

Tomorrow we're off to ride the water flumes up at Dreamland in Umm Al Quwain. The Goat mentioned the availability of fizzy yellow beverage to his brother-in-law, but somehow forgot to note the delicate Low Tide aroma wafting in off the mud flats.

What else? Well Beloved Wife and Goat are packing the other 'dults off to a five star hotel for their wedding anniversary on Wednesday, and then spending the evening in loco parentis (you've gotta be mad to be a parent). Cinema followed by Burger King, we suspect. And there's also the obligatory trip to the gold souq. We've already been to Karama: "Copy watches, genuine fake handbag, etc."

The relatives have had such a wonderful time so far that they're already mumbling about visiting again.

]}:-{>