Kent & Sussex Weekend - Day 1

A promising bright start was soon behind us, overtaken by cloud and rain as we headed along familiar roads for once familiar destinations. With Canterbury as a first objective, it was only as I joined the A2 that I really felt I was getting somewhere on a journey that was hard with the effects of night shifts still slowing mind and body. So much has happened in the Kent we knew and it was a little disconcerting to see places and things which were familiar and not at the same time; a past life seen through muslin. It was perhaps a little more disconcerting to calculate how long it is since some of the places we visited today were regular haunts. Although we lived in Gravesend for a long time, our Canterbury era was a while before that and we rarely ventured into east Kent's towns in those twelve years. Canterbury today was a literal and metaphorical washout. We had gone primarily to see the new Gormley in the cathedral. After our pleasant visit a few weeks ago to Salisbury it was nothing less than a shock to find that its Kent cousin charges a shameful £8 for entry. A desultory single person ticket booth kept a small queue waiting unnecessary minutes in the heavy rain and we decided that £16 to see a sculpture we might not be able to photograph was a price not worth paying. We went to Morellis which appears to have relocated. Although I would not single them out for criticism, the visit reminded me that food and drink are getting very expensive. I imagine a few establishments have slipped in a bit of a price increase behind the 20% VAT smokescreen. No town is best seen in wet weather but Canterbury today was a nightmare of limited parking exacerbated by the kind of town planning - extended pedestrianisation we do not recall - which only the worst of planners can conceive and the worst of councils can approve. The car park we crept into effectively charges double on Saturday by making 2hrs the minimum chargeable period. We went up the Littlebourne Road to St. Martins Hospital at which Greg used to work in two buildings. Both have changed and one is abandoned. It was a shock to realise that that job was about 21 years ago and a little amusing to note that the former St. Martin's House is now Gregory Day Hospital.

A journey via Sandwich on roads where people wanted to go faster than seemed appropriate for either their design or the weather took us to Shepherdswell, home of the East Kent Light Railway (EKLR). This, to my mind, is an underpublicised railway and local signage does little to help it. My experience there after a shaky start was absolutely wonderful and I am still smiling inwardly at my photographs. My attempts to park or, strictly speaking, to reverse away from somewhere I could not park led to an embarrassing collision with a fence and being temporarily stuck in mud of which there was plenty today. I could not in all conscience drive away from the damage and went off to find some of the volunteers whose presence could be deduced from the parked vans. I showed them the damage and offered to pay for it but it appears that I had inadvertently started some demolition they were planning anyway. I was apologetic nonetheless and made a donation. They made me a cup of tea which I consumed after unlimited access to the site where no trains were running today. It is a mecca for me if I may say that without invoking jihad upon rail enthusiasts across the land. They have a large representation of Southern Region (and its successors') emus and a wonderful Easten Region Metro Cammell dmu which made me feel quite emotional. The visit and its results, reviewed later in our Maidstone hotel, were an object lesson in photographic perseverance. The unwelcome weather had not suggested photography but I was determined not to leave empty handed from somewhere I can visit only rarely. It rained remorselessly during my walk round but I am thrilled with the pictures. Two or three have been marred by drops on the lens which I was frequently drying whilst fearing for the general well being of my non-resistant camera. Its automatics have produced some great images and the awkwardness of wielding the camera in such poor weather led me to miss verticals only a couple of times. Sets will appear on Facebook and Flickr.

An attempt to visit Dover Transport Museum (Greg has a very thrilling life with me) was thwarted by its odd opening times which do not include Saturdays. The external exhibits alone make it worth returning. There was an unexpected and pleasant surprise ahead (is it possible to have an expected surprise?). We stopped at the Stop 24 services area on the M20 near Folkestone. I assume it is named for its opening hours and not after two packs of one dozen condoms.....

It is a very nice service area, perhaps even a model for others. I do not think I can imagine another with a Julian Graves. Retail aside, it has slightly limited eating options at the moment but there was absolutely nothing wrong with Breakfast Break where my burger was cooked fresh and the bread for Greg's sandwich was sliced behind the counter rather than before it entered the packet. We were served by Kevin the Teenager who had a poor short term memory at least where tomatoes are concerned but he did seem to have remembered some of his customer service training. The light, spacious building was further enhanced by two ATMs which don't charge for withdrawals which must be almost unheard of on motorways. One of them dispenses Euros which I have not seen anywhere else (in the UK, audience).

There was another surprise in the Marriott car park which contained a bright orange Porsche. I can only imagine it was associated with the golf club; when one sees what golfers wear, one can hardly expect taste in car colours. The only thing is, I can not believe it is dealer supplied colour - well, not that kind of dealer anyway - and that left me wondering what sort of damaged person would do that to his/her expensive car.

We are due on two railways tomorrow - Greg will probably be up all night with excitement - and notwithstanding my precipitation defying success of today, I would like a little sunshine or dry air. It might take a while for photographs to appear as my Orange dongle might not be up to the task. Please feel free to applaud on FB.

A rare four day weekend started here. For today, I stood astride a chasm of fatigue separating on the one side achievement and on the other, anticipation. It had been a difficult night duty requiring difficult decisions against the background of an imprecise weather forecast. My morning sleep was necessarily minimal before going to collect my Mum for lunch.

Beefeater is the kind of place people go when they believe they have become too sophisticated for KFC or, perhaps, simply to collect Nectar points. I intended to do so but ultimately forgot after a visit frustratingly protracted by courteous but rather harassed service. I don't think the Harbour Lights in-house analyst had done his/her half-term predictions. The food was adequate but indisputably overpriced. My prawns which were about £9 each or thereabouts were cooling rapidly when they arrived. My fillet steak was quite possibly the correct cut but of mediocre quality.

I felt that Mum and Greg did not need my company for their Tesco shopping in the half-term crowds of people on their way to or from Beefeater (or perhaps KFC for those wearing tracksuit bottoms). From the car park I captured a scene which might well have been from America and is now on Facebook and Flickr. The light was unpredictable but, with Greg driving, I was able to add to my Chinese restauarant portfolio. The truth is I could not wait for tomorrow's start of a two day excursion to Kent and Sussex. With the weather unpredictable our itinerary remains fluid but I can predict with certainty that we shall not cover all the potential destinations.

Fareham as Haven

Perhaps because of my intra-night duty semi-catatonia I found myself remarkably placid and light of affect today. I was able almost wholly to overlook the fact that half-term had brought unruly hordes to the streets of Fareham. It had been a pleasure and a surprise to see sunshine when I stirred from my short but valuable extra sleep. I can no longer allow night shifts to affect my life disproportionately and so, having checked the dates of the food in the fridge, we committed to lunch out without really knowing what we wanted. The meal was pleasant but incidental and, with Greg enjoying coffee outside on a rare warm day, I went to take photographs.

Increasingly I am amazed at how much there is to photograph even in ones local area and how choosing to photograph selected subjects leads one more closely to examine other things around. Things previously mundane ask you to enquire into their history. I am really enjoying contributing toward Chinese Restaurant Worldwide Documentation Project . I don't even care if you think that is impossibly geeky. It is like geographing on a smaller scale and that makes it a manageable compromise. I can imagine contributing to other specialist streams as long as they inspire me and help make me one of the most published photographers on the internet.

We went on to look at the proliferation of Chinese Restaurants and Takeaways on Brockhurst Road, Gosport. Many of those are frequently obstructed by cars and will take a long time to reach Flickr but I was inevitably captivated by Fort Brockhurst, already a favourite building. I also paused at one of Gosport's many tiled pubs. I like the style a lot and think its inherent timelessness will inspire more pictures.

The second night shift in prospect seemed very manageable and we plan to visit Kent over the weekend but do not expect to be much helped by the weather after today's welcome brightness.

Satisfaction

ASDA has done it again, providing us tonight with a very satisfactory chilli con carne; inexpensive, absolutely nothing wrong with it. It was part of a day constructed as a patchwork of satisfaction stitched together with optimism and anticipation of some good future events. I can't say that I was thrilled at first to be at work for the second of eight consecutive days but at least it was cold and misty which meant I was not missing sunshine as I did yesterday. I can say that I very much enjoyed my investigators course. The course content and structure were well judged and it was delivered well. I felt informed, educated and engaged.

Even before I had reached work, I had enjoyed most of 'Computers and Blues' by The Streets. This is touted as Mike Skinner's final offering and I have at least two of the earlier CDs. He really is very good. I wonder now if I would enjoy 'The Defamation of Strickland Banks' - I just about caught Plan B on The Brits but not enough to be sure. With this in my car CD player, I still have 'Collapse Into Now' by REM to look forward to. My cultural cravings were topped up in the evening by our recording of a documentary about sculptor David Nash, an artist of rare articulacy. He seems to interview with clarity avoiding the pretentious, mumbling crap associated with many contemporary artists. This documentary and Great British Railway Journeys before it have both visited Blaenau Ffestiniog and such is the attraction of its stark landscape, I think I might have to visit too.

Closer to home, we had our oven cleaned and I had an unexpected surprise from work. If you see an Ovenclean  franchise in your area I suggest you contact them. I don't know anyone who actually likes cleaning their oven, so this is an ideal service. Unless you use your oven three times a day and are completely neglectful, you need use the service only once a year and it costs about £45-55. We were extremely satisfied with the service and the result. On my night shifts I had written a paper with some ideas about some of the applications we use at work. It seems it has been favourably received.

I think the six days ahead, culminating in more nights, will be hard at times but, at their end. lies a rare weekend off. I have plenty of ideas for those.

Fatigue and Rain - Enemies Defeated

A second night shift passed quickly enough as I had plenty to do. I had to sleep when I got in and we planned to out when our cleaner arrived. The weather was pretty foul albeit with some remissions in the course of the afternoon but I intended to minimise its restrictions on me. We ate at the always reliable Cafe Tusk, which I have reviewed before and where the food was very good. We had haircuts and will need only one more before flying to Los Angeles. I have now been to Fareham dozens of times but am still noticing things which surprise me and entice the camera. Today, as shown on Flickr, I found a very elaborate drinking fountain and noted an attractive Art Deco building housing the rather more functional W H Smith and other businesses. I wanted to keep going and asked Greg to drive me to Portsmouth Cathedral where I photographed the important Blitz Memorial unveiled this year on the 70th anniversary of the city's worst night in WWII.

It remained only to collect dry cleaning so that I shall look nice on my extra attendances later this week then rest ahead of another busy day tomorrow.

How I Survived Between Nights

Faced with a busy day between night shifts when I should rather be recuperating, I was fortunate to have enjoyed the kindness of colleague Fran. I would call this exceptional and nearly did so but, in fact, that would be unkind because it is more typical than it is exceptional. With some extra rest in the bank, I survived remarkably well and got far more done even than I had expected. The weather helped too, being largely sunny. We went to collect my Mum for her Low Vision Assessment to be conducted at Tombs and Allen. It turned out to be an uplifting experience with levels of service which have simply disappeared in many other places. Three aids were identified for Mum and, astonishingly, are being provided cost-free under a scheme we didn't know existed. A long and thorough appointment allowed me and Greg to do our shopping at Waitrose, a rare event, and return it home. I still had time and, to my surprise, the energy to walk to Gosport Station. A fairly sympathetic redevelopment of this long closed station has been completed and the results please my eye; enough in fact to post a picture at the head of this blog.

Inevitably, I succumbed to sleep in the afternoon and woke to work on Flickr. A post on FB about driveways proved satisfyingly provocative as it was meant to be. I love being controversial. In the evening Greg and I ate our Valentine's meal, bought at Waitrose. In fact, after eating, I realised we had inadvertently hybridised our meal with a main course not purchased in the Valentine's promotion. However, the food was very nice and to spend most of the day with Greg, albeit before a night duty, was lovely and appropriate as we approach 33 years together.

Wet and Wasted

It is hard to say which is the worst, the Highways Agency or Transport for London (TfL). The Highways Agency brings ineptitude and mismanagement to our roads but TfL are empowered to bring these 'qualities' to all forms of transport within their area. There was plenty of evidence in London today. The current euphemisms for disruption are 'improvements' and 'upgrades'. 'Improvements' are to be seen at every turn and feature prominently on posters advertising  a widespread lack of this, that and the other at weekends and evenings. I did notice one poster surprisingly referring directly to 'Tube disruptions'; I imagine that got past the TfL proofreading thought police. What amused and annoyed me simultaneously were two notices on the Underground which serve to illustrate the stupidity with which works are planned and the attendant publicity generated. On a Central Line train, Bank on the route map is appended 'Major escalator works. Avoid changing at Bank' - one of the system's busiest interchanges. Similarly, at Oxford Circus - probably consistently busier than Bank - where two entrances are already closed for escalator replacement, notices advise that (the remaining) entrances may be closed 'at busy times' to prevent overcrowding. How helpful can they get?

I was reminded on my arrival today at Tottenham Court Road of fears reported yesterday in The Standard that the Paolozzi tiles may not survive planned refurbishment of the station. If they do not, I shall not mourn them not because I especially dislike the art but on principle. I remember their installation and, at the time, they were a fatuous distraction from the fundamental inadequacies of the station which remain to this day. They are, chiefly, an unduly claustrophobic interior and persistently unreliable escalators in a deep station. During the years I worked at Centre Point (above) I corresponded frequently with London Underground (before TfL) on these and other subjects. Today, one escalator was behind hoardings; I don't think they have ever had them all serviceable. Eduardo Paolozzi is an interesting and proficient sculptor but the tiles were and are a propagandist misdirection.

Forecast rain set in even before we left our Bexleyheath hotel. Blackheath and its approaches, a notorious bottleneck on the A2 into London, have not improved at all. Changes to the New Cross one-way system are welcome and very effective. London Bridge presented a nightmare cacophony of noise levels significantly elevated by construction of The Shard. This was particularly unwelcome upon emerging from the increasingly scruffy Snowsfield car park into heavy rain. I saw my first gas bus and many possible architectural shots all of which could be photographed in more clement conditions. One should, I suppose, applaud developments but the problem for me is that they are never ending; there is always something going on. Crossrail, increasingly visible in, or I suppose under, Oxford Street will cause disruption for years.

I resent the time wasted at hospitals whether for myself or when accompanying Greg or Mum. Greg was at Guys today for a routine appointment and, almost inevitably, was seen 25 minutes late. There are so many clinics which just run later and later as they proceed. More consultant discipline is needed. With the hospital behind us and lunch ahead - important for Greg who had been fasting - and ignoring the rain, we headed for Oxford Street. Rasa Sayang Express offers an excellent selection of Asian food. The food was very good but they let themselves down on service. Greg tried to pay by credit card and the machine repeatedly 'failed'. I felt strongly that this was contrived by an outlet that did not really want to accept cards. I told them plainly that if they want to deal in cash only, they should do so openly. The rain was now making a protracted stay pointless but we continued to our main objective, a Mapplethorpe exhibition at the Alison Jacques gallery in Berners Street.

Jake Shears should have been more careful what he put his name to. Having used a Mapplethorpe image for their potentially controversial cover for the recent 'Night Work' album, the exhibition is curated collectively by Scissor Sisters. I must say I don't 'get' Robert Mapplethorpe whose work I find variously to be gratuitous or irrrelevant and usually lacking in any obvious photographic merit. In this exhibition, a variety of his works are interspersed with a few by other artists. Alison Jacques occupies two spaces in the same street with the exhibition in both. None of the work is labelled thus failing to distinguish Mapplethorpe from the others, or indeed to identify artist or work in any case. This is the failing of the exhibition which Shears promised to curate carefully. It appeared to me that it has not been curated at all.

As a parting shot, I noticed on our mercifully swift exit from the city via the A3 that so much has been spent on the blue paint about which I previously posted, that scant attention has been paid to the basic engineering of the roads it adorns. In heavy rain, there was substantial flooding.

This may seem a very carping post but the British remain inadequate at complaining, lacking either the courage or articulacy to do so. We should not accept the sub-standard or inept nor should we remain silent. A lot goes on around us which simply should not happen. Think about it and what you are going to do about it.

Public Transport

The sound of police sirens tore the evening air of New Cross and the blue lights seemed urgently vivid in the dusk. Although a pedestrian and not in the mounting traffic, I felt a surge of irritation as sight and sound took me back to my London years and the many Belmarsh convoys I saw then. To time these for the evening rush and then carve ostentatiously through the traffic is senselessly stupid planning and the make-up of the convoys is a grave misuse of police resources. This one had three or four rather heavily populated vehicles in addition to what appeared to be the prisoner transport. As I noted in Brighton recently, you never see a policeman when you want one but there’s never any shortage on what they deem the big occasions.

I was beginning the return leg of an exhilarating solo trip on public transport from our temporary base in Bexleyheath. Greg would not have wanted to come on this bus and train trip and will see enough of London tomorrow either side of his medical appointment. I am hoping the weather will permit a little wandering around. It was quite kind this afternoon and even conceded a little sunshine. The trip had not started well. I had to walk all the way to Bexleyheath station because the local agents are no longer allowed to sell paper tickets and therefore One-Day Travelcards. I was passed by dozens of buses I could have used had I already had a ticket. One is supposed to use an Oyster Card, a scheme ideal for the resident or regular traveller but completely inappropriate for the casual traveller. The two apologetic newsagents I tried should have offered me an Oyster Card appropriately charged but the problem is that a first time purchase attracts a £5 deposit which would have made the whole purchase expensive. This seems like a scam but I think it is intended to cover replacement costs as the card is, believe it or not, valid for 50 years. I was impressed by the intensive rail service and South Eastern branding. A lot of effort has visibly gone into improving station environments. The smart trains and mostly graffiti free infrastructure compared very favourably with last week’s Trenitalia and Rome Metro. The corporate image came under some stress at St. Johns and New Cross and it was a little poignant to pass through the barely noticeable remains of (Eltham) Well Hall which did not survive into the modern age.

My intention and an intention fulfilled was to travel on the New Cross to Dalston Junction section of London Overground or at least a small part of it. The Class 378 units are impressive and the service pattern is nothing short of astonishing. I noted with some chagrin that some weekend disruption to this recently opened system is due and I hope, charitably, that it is due only to its continuing development. I visited Canada Water and Surrey Quays stations and openly photographed what I wanted without being assailed by PCSOs, security guards or anyone else who does not know the law. I returned intentionally to New Cross Gate in order to walk between the two local stations. This area will probably be kept well hidden during the Olympics as it has, if anything, decayed further since what I earlier referred to as my ‘London years’. The South Eastern service back to Bexleyheath was adequately formed and on time but also very busy. I fail to understand the seating arrangements on these trains unless they were designed by or for amputees. No-one of any reasonable height can sit facing fully forward (or backward) in the space available.

Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed myself and finished my journey by bus from what is called the Bexleyheath Station stop but only because it is near the station – not in any way properly integrated for the hard of moving. I saw a lot of good things today. Train and bus services have undoubtedly improved and very much so and are well used but we still fall short in many areas of a properly integrated transport system. The inducements to use it remain often weak and incoherent but progress is being made.

Not Moving People

I was surprised and uplifted to find that we had a fifth day of sunshine albeit far from Rome. This was not the weather the UK had enjoyed whilst we were away but I certainly appreciated it today even with slightly lower temperatures than on our Italian sojourn. We expect an abrupt return to grey tomorrow and I have a packed schedule for days to come. I went to see my Mum and then we went out to leave our cleaner to her invariably efficient tasks. My plans had been fluid but I wanted to see the Parry People Mover on its trial on the Mid-Hants Railway. It had been due to operate only between Alton and Medstead and Four Marks so I imagined it would be at one or the other. There was disappointment at Alton in the form of a notice announcing that it would not be running until further notice. Undeterred we drove to Medstead and Four Marks where it was indeed stabled. I managed photographs. We also visited Ropley and Alresford thus covering the whole line. The staff one encounters are very friendly and I hope to visit regularly.

We start a two day visit to London tomorrow so I caught up with work online this evening. I am already looking forward to flying to California.

Rome Weekend - Day 5

When you see a Fiat Multipla, possibly one of the ugliest cars on the road, you do not immediately think 'projectile'. In the hands of a Rome taxi driver it is a projectile aimed indiscriminately at other road users and at the often non-existent spaces between them. There is no denying that many Italians drive needlessly dangerously relying solely on their brakes and presumably wearing them out frequently in doing so. They dash from place to place much as a Subaru driver would in the UK but the Impreza-nable would generally stay in lane. An additional technique of the taxi driver is simply to drive in two lanes with the intent, I imagine, of taking advantage of the minutest gap in either. My attention was mercifully focused for the most part on all the wonderful things we might see on another trip to the Eternal City. For anyone with fear of flying this might well be the ideal way to reach the airport as their largely unfounded anxiety would have diminished into some sort of proportion by the time the taxi pulls up in front of the terminal. It takes some time (even at inappropriate speeds) to leave the suburbs and reach the Autostrada. I had to smile when we accelerated along it, not from relief but at the Glasgow-M8-like exhortations on the overhead signs; the first "Guidare con Prudenza", disastrously redundant; the others suggesting keeping to the right and fastening ones seatbelt, equally risible in the circumstances.

I had been tempted to record in this blog that the Italians have neither words in their language nor room in their psyche for the concept of queuing. Whilst this was true at the opera where they unwisely kept the doors closed a little too long, I have to concede that it is no longer universally true. I had already noted an especially orderly system at Termini's ticket office and, today, an even greater surprise awaited me. In Via Lazio, near our hotel, there is a hole-in-the-wall pizza place where they actually have one of those little tear off ticket things just like in A&E. On a fourth straight day of unbroken sunshine I stood at the junction with Via Veneto and ate superb pizza whilst reading a poster commemorating "La Dolce Vita". The sweet life indeed. Rome is fabulous.

The airport procedures were swift and friendly and the BA lounge faced north which, with the position of the afternoon sun, facilitated some happy photography even through glass. Our flight was on time, the meal very good. At Gatwick, baggage was delivered swiftly and our car was ready. I believe I am sufficiently refreshed and uplifted to be sustained until our departure for Los Angeles.

Rome Weekend - Day 4

If all roads lead to Rome then, when in Rome itself, all roads lead to Termini. Termini is a hectic confluence of rail, metro, tram, bus and,well, roads. It is a flaw rather than a highlight in the dull jewel of the Metro that the current lines (A & B; C is allegedly under construction) cross only at Termini. The system was extremely busy even on a Sunday and work in progress meant a trek across the entire station to change lines (in our direction of travel). The Rome Metro is a shabby looking place but posters do advertise much needed rejuvenation. As with similar projects in Britain, there seems to be a lot closed off and not very much going on. We had already had a very long walk at Spagna where it is probably considered an advantage in bad weather to be able to cover long distances underground but those passages could do with some revitalisation.

It was not bad weather today; it was absolutely beautiful and our coats came off a couple of hours earlier than yesterday. First sight outside Circo Massimo station was the beautifully sunlit Severione Baths on the Palatine. We wandered unexpectedly round the Stadio delle Terme di Caracalla to find yet more ruins there before going to the Caracalla Baths themselves. They are extraordinary and I was quite moved. The scale of the ruins is remarkable; the original structure must have been incredible. It was a great visit but we needed to rest before our afternoon visit to the opera.

We attended Teatro dell'Opera for L'Elisir d'Amore. There were a few of the hard of moving there. If I had been in the condition of some of them I don't think I would have attended anything as long as an opera. The production was visually captivating but the director had filled a large stage with irritating distractions in the background which became genuinely annoying. The singing was not of the highest calibre but the key tenor aria, 'Una Furtiva Lagrima' was beautifully performed. For me, there as Greg's companion not as an opera fan per se, the highlight was early in the first act when Belcore drew his sword to reveal a weapon of much less length than the scabbard. A visual metaphor missed in that brief moment by many I suspect.

After the performance I found myself again caught between a place and a Hard Rock. The eponymous cafe had a wait tonight of 50-60 mins. With plenty of empty tables visible this represents a mixture of ineptitude and the bullshit that goes with this supposed star attraction worldwide. At the end of the day it's a burger joint with nice buns. Much though I appreciate nice buns I don't wait up to an hour for a meal. We ate a very satisfactory meal at our hotel where the waiter was in a league completely removed from those of our first two nights.

I disciplined myself to upload to Flickr but I am behind and want to do the remainder properly. We have printed our boarding passes for tomorrow and are obviously very thrilled at the prospect of returning to wind and rain.

Rome Weekend - Day 3

My reflection in the opposite window of our rather faded Rome Metro train was not a pretty sight. The grey in my hair shone; my face looked thinner although my ugly white body has definitely gained weight and the downturned corners of my mouth gave an impression that I was much less happy than I in fact was. The reality was that I was tired after about six hours of walking on Rome's harsh pavements but I could only reflect ruefully that I have colleagues little younger than me who visit Everest base camp, hike Kilimanjaro and the Grand Canyon and run in marathons. I am the pathetic one with the seized calves and tightening back which I jolted several times today on uneven surfaces.

It was a beautiful day and we were determined to make the most of it. Starting without a plan we walked in the Villa Borghese park and could have stayed forever. Its lake and sculptures are beautiful. Piazzale Flaminio was a great example of how very pleasant Rome is away from the most crowded parts. We travelled to Cipro and I enjoyed walking alongside the walls of the Vatican City. There is something to be gained from this experience without sharing the futile superstitions of the Catholic faith. I was very pleased to he headed in th eopposite direction to the impossibly large queues for the Vatican Museums. We lingered a long while in the sun-bather Piazza del Risorgimento, pleasant in its own right and just beyond the footsteps of the faithful but also as it happens a better place than Termini to photograph buses and trams. I had not seen so much of the city walls before and we made our way to the more familiar open St. Peter's Square and on to Via della Conciliazone. The buildings are undeniably impressive and must convey something more to the committed visitor. To confirm that we were in the XXIst century, large screens relayed to the crowd a (presumably live) service led by the Pope. He did not sound very well.

There was much more walking ahead and my body was beginning to suggest lunch. Castel Sant' Angelo and the nearby bridges make a wonderful sight though the indeterminate grey-blue-green of the Tiber does not invite a close examination. The day was at its height, my coat now on my arm as we enjoyed sunshine not apparently shared by those at home. A few quiet Irish rugby fans passed the time before heading to Stadio Flaminio. They will have had their hearts in their mouths before returning to airports or hotels. Their 11-0 record in head-to heads nearly became 11-1 in a tight 11-13 last gasp victory. Crossing the Tiber at Ponte Cavour we hoped that Museo del' Ara Pacis (under construction on our last visit) would have a cafe or restaurant but it did not. We found ourselves instead at a rather undertstated tourist restaurant on Via Tomacelli where we almost certainly ate on that last visit. The food was good but the views of the Augustan Mausoleum remain clutterd by the detritus of a protracted refurbishment. The approach to a perfectly lit Spanish Steps from that direction was quite a sight. We boarded an exceptionally busy Line A train for Arco di Travertino in the hope that there would indeed be a Travertine Arch in the vicinity. In the event we emerged into a slightly nicer Italian version of Elephant & Castle and a similar number of important historic monuments. Choosing Barberini as a station near our hotel we travelled back on Line A clinging to the slippery lateral seats with only buttock friction, and in my case, wishing that I could not see my reflection. It remained only to drag my fat body uphill to the Marriott and be shocked that I had up to 103 photographs to process. I hope you all enjoy my favourite 'Amatore'

Rome Weekend - Day 2

The best way to leave a restaurant is reluctantly. I was all too keen to leave Ristorante Il Peperone at Via Veneto, 97 tonight. The food was fine; the service was poor. The roles seemed to be divided between  a mixture of unhappy Asians and their extremely detached Italian superiors. None was attentive, lacking even the basic skill of offering dessert after a suitable pause following the main course. So inattentive were they that, even in a quiet restaurant, they forgot to charge for our desserts and coffee. Only because I feared arrest if they somehow blamed us for this oversight I brought it to their attention and their remedy was not to amend the bill but to produce a second, leading to two credit card transactions. Still, there was no repeat of last night's attempted scam.

Rome and Paris have a lot in common. Both are beautiful cities. Both are inhabited by people who believe they have style which they do not and both have countless examples of stunningly selfish parking. Double parking is virtually mandatory and triple parking is not unheard of. I can only imagine that all the perpetrators belong to the 'I'm only going to be a few minutes' club. This caveat of course makes ones vehicle much less of an obstacle as does leaving on ones hazard flashers in the UK. A streak of selfishness bordering frequently on lawlessness runs through the Italian psyche. On Roma Termini station where smoking is banned, it is hard to avoid smokers the most daring of whom are finishing their cigarettes not only on the platforms but actually in train doorways with only the ash beyond the plane of the carriage's boundary.

It was a beautiful day in Rome but still required a coat. As in many cities, the canyons formed by closely spaced buildings can be cold as well as dark. These same conditions made photography more challenging. The greater challenge though lies in achieving some originality in one of the most photographed cities on earth. I think I have done that in some of my Flickr photostream. It took a while to get motivated. I found the buses unexciting, a feeling with which most of you are probably already familiar. Motivation was difficult too at Roma Termini station. Although the concourse area is developed and clean, the station infrastructure of (presumably) 60s concrete shows visible decay. Wider decay is evident in the shameful external condition of many of the trains including locomotives. Toilet facilities at 70c per use were woefully inadequate, a downstairs closure apparently leaving limited capacity and consequent queues for facilities on which the Euros collected had not obviously been spent.

We had Metro tickets but the easiest way to get around and see as much as possible is on foot. We walked a long way. The Colosseum and Forum were of course busy but some of the side streets were surprisingly tranquil and pleasant. In one such we found a good buffet lunch which revived us enough to continue the uphill walk to the hotel. Breakfast at the hotel is taken on the 7th floor which has a roof garden. That was open during breakfast but closed in the afternoon which I found surprising and mean. I doubt that the motivation was Health and Safety - this is Italy.

Rome, I suppose, is no more representative of Italy at large than London is of England or Britain but it certainly is expensive. Although, like London, there is no season as such with a constant stream of tourists, I felt there were signs of strain on the economy.

Rome Weekend - Day 1

It was a nice day in the south of  England but, if the BBC forecast is to be believed, we are leaving behind several days of heavy rain. The BA Gatwick lounge was the usual oasis but the wi-fi was off due to some careless workmen. There seems to be some development going on at North Terminal. I hope it is worthwhile because the airport was pretty quiet today. I took a lot of photographs through glass and later found I was not very pleased with them. My aerial shots of Paris, the Alps and Rome were also pretty unexciting.

Arrival in Fiumicino was OK with baggage delivery not too bad. Outside the terminal I thought it was unnecessarily chaotic. The transfer bus we were offered went only to the inconvenient Ostiense station. We went off to the train as originally planned. I was astonished when the man selling the TRAIN tickets tried to sell me shuttle tickets on the grounds that the shuttle (he was offering) went to the Termini forecourt whereas the airport train stops at Platform 28 which leaves a substantial walk within the station. That is true but I can not imagine he had any official sanction for his sideline. The airport train, branded 'Leonardo Express' is a rather scruffy train which takes 32 minutes to reach the centre at speeds of 40-60Km/h and has only a moving map to recommend it. The local train is cheaper and identified by having far more external graffiti. I don't particularly like arriving somwhere in the dark even when I have been before. Our 1000m walk at Termini station ended at a slightly anarchic taxi rank. Italian driving is unnecessarily fast but I imagine it might be worth owning a Kwik-Fit with plenty of pads and linings. I thought our taxi driver might be coked up although it is difficult to tell in an Italian taxi. He kept on sniffing and touching his nose; I don't think he had  a cold. There was just one more scam to negotiate. We ate at Caffe Strega near the hotel. The food was good but when we received the bill, they claimed the card machine was not working and asked if we could pay in cash. I refused. Inside the machine was working perfectly well.

To My Chinese Friends

恭喜發財