Waterside Brasserie

Perhaps wishing to adjust early to the anticipated luxury of our cruise, we decided to at eat the Waterside Brasserie, Lee on Solent. On the shore but slightly hidden, it is not as accessible as it might be. You need to know it is there. It does not have its own parking and the nearest ramp is completely unsuitable for wheelchairs. These can be safely propelled only from another access point some way away. The menu was enticing and tolerably priced. I felt virtuous to order a dressed crab salad and it was not bad but it is fair to say that the best feature of the dish was the, probably local, new potatoes. I have little experience of crab in the singular but the dark meat mix unintentionally reminded me of builders sand albeit more in appearance than texture. It was at least cheaper than my partner's salmon with fresh vegetables and that surprised me. A chocolate and chilli creme brulee was pretty spectacular with the infused heat subtle but distinct. Across the table, bread and butter pudding disappeared quickly even in a slightly over-sweet creme anglaise.

For above average food and unsurpassed Solent views, Waterside is worth a visit especially perhaps on one of these long evenings.

Food 7.5 out of 10; service 7 out of 10.

What A Difference A Day Makes

Had I written this yesterday, the day of most of the events recorded, the prose might have been much more heated. As it was I arrived home from London exhausted and a little deflated. I like to get things done and, at a late hour, I knew I could not process all my photographs (to my satisfaction), write a blog entry and get smart on Facebook. Without my notebook I could not even have held all my thoughts from the day. I am a great list and note maker. My mind is a little overactive and thoughts sometimes get lost. The weather on Monday was unsettled but excluded an early return to Mottisfont where, it appeared, lighting would be similar to yesterday. It was time to gamble; the first gamble was that it would be brighter later and further inland. With Ai Weiwei's 'Circle of Animals' at Somerset House closing on June 26th and my Norwegian Fjord Fiesta about to intervene, it seemed important, almost urgent, to get to London. I did not want bright sunshine in the Fountain Court; the harsh shadows it causes are not conducive to good photography of sculpture. I was tempted to go all the way by train (from Havant); it was as well that we did not. We drove the familiar A3 noting that the next time we do so we shall probably benefit from the soon to be opened Hindhead Tunnel. A journey to London these days is an expensive proposition with train fares on the one hand balanced by the congestion charge, parking and probably Travelcards on the other. We both thought of the same compromise at the same time, to avoid the congestion charge and seek lower parking charges by parking outside central London and using a Travelcard to complete the journey. We chose Kingston and this, at first, brought a bonus. Parking was fairly easy albeit in a typical NCP poorly designed and maintained edifice. Our choice of location brought us across David Mach's uplifting 'Out of Order' an installation of 'tumbling' telephone boxes which will shortly appear on my Flickr photostream. The challenge in photographing something so popular is to try to do something a little different. I have at least avoided the clutter some people don't seem to mind in their pictures. When you are using the viewfinder/EVF or LCD you can not cease to be aware what is going on at the periphery of the intended image or allow oneself to concentrate on the subject itself to the exclusion of what else will appear in frame.

Time was evaporating and we stayed in Kingston for lunch at 'Little Italy' which was not busy but, I think, deserved to be. Penne Arrabiata was a degree beyond a desirable al dente but the sauce was very good. Lunch prices make this centrally located Italian restaurant worth a visit. There are, improbably, some architectural gems in Kingston which I might previously have thought a potential candidate for Betjeman's 'friendly bombs'. These range from Quebec House to the old (1864) Police Station, now in alternative use. Now we were to learn why people are reluctant to use public transport. Kingston station is well presented and maintained but the journey from it was excruciating. The loop services are not fast anyway but our progress through London's dull suburbs seemed for a while to have the alacrity of an Indian hill train. The graffiti fom Barnes inwards is as shocking and depressing as any on the notorious approaches to Paris Gare du Nord. At least we picked up speed for a while but ultimately to no avail. We ground to a halt after Vauxhall, tantalisingly close to our destination. It took about 20 further minutes to reach Waterloo with only the 2 Class 08s in the Railway Children set of the former Eurostar terminal to distract. The guard gave us frequent but futile updates - about 'earlier signalling problems' - and these provided little comfort in a train with neither intercom nor toilets. Trains were moving all around us and we seemed to have been pathed for the least available platform at the terminus. Such was the need for a toilet on arrival that there was no time to berate the staff of either Network Rail or South West Trains. Sometimes piss comes before pissed off. To my considerable surprise the barriers in the toilet were open and the 30p fee waived. I would like to think that was in deference to the desperation of the delayed arrivals but it was more likely due to the fact that another small part of NR's shabby infrastructure, the change machine, was out of order. The return journey presented us with two options; return to Waterloo which clearly would not have recovered from the inept bumblings of Network Rail or, using our still decent knowledge of London's transport options, seek an alternative route to Kingston via Richmond. Unfortunately, we did both. Waterloo, although well provided with 'Customer Service Representatives' was chaotic. Trains were running but no-one knew the exact departure time of any. It defies belief that NR do not simply reset their timetable. It is utterly meaningless to run the 16xx to Shepperton 'one hour and four minutes late'. I was able to determine from a calm but ineffectual manager who had ventured onto the concourse that there had been a major power failure much earlier at Walton-on-Thames. There was no evidence of diversity or contingency and plenty of evidence of a significant engineering failure. If airlines ran like NR they would not last five minutes. We made various connections across a typically overheated Underground to reach Richmond where we could be more confident of identifying a Kingston bound train and completing our journey. This had all taken a lot of time (I felt glad that we had not had to return to Havant by train) and we now needed supper. Pizza Hut is an established comfort zone for me and service was quick. That turned out however to be at the expense of the pizza dough. I felt that they had changed their pepperoni and not for the better but was impressed by the free unlimited salad with a main course. On balance it is a sad reflection on Pizza Hut when the strongest menu item is the tortilla chips from the salad bar. The toilet there was borderline insalubrious with an astonishgly claustrophobic cabin and a flush with the strength of a vegetarian Liberal Democrat handshake. The taps in the hand basins appeared to have been placed rather than plumbed in and rotated freely. I imagine Prince Phillip might have been able to suggest the origins of the plumber.

All this transport related trauma rather detracts from the underlying success of the day. The 'Circle of Animals' exhibit in the Fountain Court of Somerset House was well worth the trip. In truth it is the setting which is brilliantly conceived, for the zodiacal sculptures, whatever significance the oppressed Mr Ai might attribute to them, are precariously mundane with some considerably less striking than others. It is being seen together and with the fountains that makes the whole thing work although, paradoxically, the individual heads most lend themselves to striking photographs. The freedom afforded the photographer by the exhibition host contrasts poignantly with the current (presumed) living arrangements of the artist.

Between the recumbent telephone boxes of surprising Kingston and the animal guests of elegant Somerset House lay one more surprise. 'Urban Fox' at the South Bank is a smile provoking feature of a Waterloo Bridge crossing. As artful as the eponymous creature itself, it deserves a place more permanent than its construction and intent (celebrating the 1951 Festival of Britain) make likely.

As Twickenham's A316 became the dull ribbon of the M3, I silently composed the blog to come as Greg drove. Only two weeks from the longest day and where there should have been a vibrant, light evening, thick cloud seemed to reinforce the failings of the day. The task then was to place those in the context of the greater successes. With a rebuke for Network Rail only half-formed I slept grateful for art and the ability to enjoy it.

Blue Cobra

An evening of unusual but necessary indulgence was the reward for a hard cycle nearly completed and a precursor to what I expect to be an enjoyable weekend close to home. We went to Blue Cobra, a recently opened Indian restaurant in Pier Street, Lee on Solent. The service was good, the food very good. The menu gave us the opportunity to try some new dishes and we were not disappointed. Poppadums were very fresh and the chutneys different enough to be notable. My Keema Kumbi starter was a well thought out breaded minced lamb and mushroom offering. Goan Chicken might have been more predictable but had a perfect texture and well managed spicing. A free Irish Cream (not necessarily Baileys , I suppose) was, as far as I know my first....and delicious.

We collect our new car tomorrow which is rather exciting. The weekend offers a Southdown Remembered bus event in Portsmouth and the arrival of Nimitz class USS George H W Bush at Spithead. It is too large to enter Portsmouth Harbour. In the meantime I hope to have caught up with MSC Opera now in Southampton after last weeks unplanned stop in Stockholm. It has been pleasant adapting to my maritime surroundings and the whole area presents regular new photographic opportunities.

Having had quite a shock on Facebook today I must now try to get through the night without dreaming of my colleagues bottoms - why can't the people you WANT to undress have similar moments of frivolity?

Inn Luck

Our experience at Crown Carveries' Inn By The Sea (Lee on Solent) on Saturday, was many steps removed from our last experience at the broadly comparable Toby Carvery. You know me as an opponent of rip-off and ardent proponent of value and fairness but, I must say, I don't know how they manage the prices they offer at Inn By The Sea. We paid £3.69 a head and £1.50 per person for Ultimate Upgrade which, frankly, proved to be unnecessary. We had a huge pile of good quality, fresh food served quite quickly. It was very good and, if you can find a space in the car park, you  should go.

Two Days in April

As we left the centre of London, a little drizzle fell and, closer to Heathrow, some drizzle became rain but lacked energy. Throughout the day which followed, we would see none. The countryside is lush in spite of the lack of recent rain and we saw plenty of it in our two days of what I shall, slightly inaccurately, call perambulations. We went to Southampton twice; yesterday to see the impressive MSC Orchestra and, today, to see, rather more distantly, Vision of the Seas. This early in the season there were in fact five cruise ships due in part to the unexplained delay to Black Watch. Also present were Ventura, Saga Pearl II and Celebrity Eclipse as well as Vision of the Seas. It makes me happy to record the Southampton of today. Photography for today is photography for tomorrow also. Today, we went to Reading. I do not recall the last time I was there and I think I have only ever been by train before today. It might have been better by train; one of the unfortunate facts of our age is that revenue protection means that most stations are barriered and platform tickets appear to be a thing of the past. The one disappointment of the visit was that I could not access the station platforms. I enjoyed the buses though and the rest of Reading was attractive. The shops and restaurants were very good. When you have been alive for nearly 55 years and  have eaten a lot of meals, novelty or variety is always welcome. We found that today in Jaswa the baked samosa company. I expect this idea to spread into a chain. The food was very good and reasonably priced.

In London yesterday evening we went to see 'Hurly Burly' at The Garrick Theatre. I hadn't known what to expect as we went specifically to see singer Spencer Day. Perhaps I should have had a better idea of burlesque and, predictably, an hour and a half of women undressing was of limited interest to me although it is difficult to criticise a show which included a mash-up of 'Looks, Looks, Looks' by the inimitable Sparks. Spencer was a bit less prominent on stage than I would have liked and than he deserved. He has a good voice and we were very fortunate to meet him afterwards. He is highly engaging and energetic and I liked him very much. There was energy to spare in London on the night before the wedding and I must admit it was a slight buzz to be there. I enjoyed seeing the scene being set although I had no desire to see the event. Traffic was pretty awful even when we left well after 10pm. Traffic management schemes must have been introduced by those with some sort of vendetta against motorists and the increasingly encroaching cycle schemes are a madness disproportionately favouring those stupid enough to cycle in the capital. The blue paint of the cycle routes is an abomination and the signs proclaiming the forthcoming completion of CS8, a provocation. The only mollification I experienced - and I might have imagined this - was that I think some bus lanes formerly 24hrs are now 7am-7pm.

We shall return to London, Reading and, of course, Southampton.

Problem; Solution

The internet was back - have you tried turning it off and back on again? The cloud of yesterday was gone and the temperature rose but remained pleasant. A Chinese Restaurant had eluded me yesterday. Well, not actually eluded; it is just that there were too many cars parked in front. A Sunday morning would be a good time to return. It nearly eluded me again on a trip for which I left Greg resting at the resort. I could not remember exactly where it was and drove as far as Bob Hope before turning back. I knew it was not just outside Phoenix and with the price of gas....Anyway, it was right there in Cathedral City all the time and I allowed one car into the photograph. I boxed rather clumsily back to the airport and noted that a new control tower is under construction. I wanted to be on the north side and worked my way round with several stops for the different sections of apron (ramp). It was easier than last time with the sun a little better placed but it was not straightforward. A  crowded ramp does not lend itself to aircraft portraiture and the comings and goings of the rich but not necessarily famous were myriad. I even saw two poodles headed for one plane but I imagine it was their owner who had hired it unless they were Lotto winners in their own right. The Loft, 'open for breakfast and lunch' was, well, closed. So, almost by chance, I ended up at the Palm Springs Air Museum for perhaps my third visit. And, as it turned out, the most enjoyable.

Problem; what is one to do when one has paid for a helicopter ride but no-one else turns up to make the flight (minimum 4) viable? Solution; hire a family. I had cooled my heels taking photographs which I enjoyed very much because they had a delightful display of carrier airplanes outside and some magnificent classic cars inside interspersed with the aircraft exhibits. I used the bathroom twice and had lunch, a Middle East sandwich, not named as you might imagine after Israel, but a delightful combo of grilled chicken, houmous and peppers on pitta. I learned something today - the meaning of 'flak', now in common usage but once an abbreviation for 'Fliegerabwehrkanone', an anti-aircraft gun. Still no companions for the ride so it was time to innovate. I did not want to miss my flight as I love helicopters and I did not much want a refund. I picked on a family group, father and two sons and offered them the trip. They only needed to realise that I was English to cope with this offer out of left field and off we went for our ten minute circuit of Palm Springs with a slight tinge of Cathedral City. Why is it that, although I have a perfectly common fear of (open) heights, I have absolutely no concerns about flying even when, as in a Jet Ranger, you can see straight past your feet? I was relieved to get reasonable results from my aerial shots. I had been very disappointed with those I took from our flight to Rome but that was from about 35,000' and, I imagine, somewhat beyond the abilities of my camera. Every mistake made with the camera is a lesson learned and I think I am getting better.

An afternoon nap barely refreshed me but I was ready for our evening meal at The Falls, an excellent restaurant in Palm Canyon Drive. My filet was superb and Greg savoured his rib-eye after we had had starters of Cajun Shrimp and Almond Brie respectively. It is an expensive restaurant but I think I could call it value for money. The restaurants of Palm Springs were thriving this Sunday night. We'll be seeing them again in 2012 but for now we are hours away from three days in San Diego.

A Saturday In The Desert Cities

From Palm Springs to La Quinta and Bermuda Dunes and back; maybe a slight hint of Indio, difficult to say. It was a road trip of sorts, very urban but definitely a road trip with cameras slung and objectives in mind. Objectives which would be fulfilled with some surprises along the way and some failures at the end. Is it an admission of failure to use 'straightening' in Photoshop? The fact is, conditions are sometimes less than ideal for photography. Without an articulated LCD screen (a feature of my next camera) maintaining an horizon in an awkwardly held camera can be rather speculative. I benefit from being tall and I can get my camera where others can not (say nothing Kettlewell and you Bethel, stop snickering) but it does not always work out and I don't publish what I don't like. My standards go beyond OCD with very rare compromises. Greg straightened a shot for me from the wonderful Bermuda Dunes airport but I was absolutely mortified that I had cropped the offside mirror of a glorious fire truck at Rancho Mirage Fire Station No.1 where I had had a friendly reception and a good chat. That faux pas came about when the light was too bright for the LCD.  I am an uncompromising fan of digital as the sheer volume of images possible these days would have been prohibitively expensive with film. I also use the camera as a notebook, recording reference shots to help later with my notes. Purists will even now be sneering into their skinny lattes or, more likely, Darjeeling. They will argue that more thought should go into the composition in the first place and that shots should not be wasted. I travel a middle road, understanding the principle they espouse but preferring to apply 10-20% of my creativity at home in shot selection and minor pp but, usually, without Photoshop. Amongst the oddities of today and the delightful surprise of a '65 Ford Mustang were two really important stops. The Cancer Survivors Park in Rancho Mirage delivers an important message to anyone affected directly or indirectly by cancer and to the population at large. It is a joyous place and I hope to see some of the other parks in 21 cities around the US and in Canada. My Flickr and Facebook albums tell the tale. The Eisenhower Walk of Honor in Indian Wells is also beautifully executed and, co-located with the Indian Wells Memorial, thought provoking as such memorials should be.

It takes a while to move about the Valley and through its thousand stop lights but that can be an advantage when on the lookout. We ate lunch not at Baja Fresh as planned but at Rockin' Baja in La Quinta. The food was excellent, scoring highly for freshness of preparation. Our meal was actually obscenely large and our evening food consumption consequently minimal. I liked though that it was flautas evening at the Inndulge social hour. I liked an internet failure (local router) much less but it was time for bed anyway. Monday will be the perfect time to move on to San Diego but we have already decided that we shall come back to Palm Springs indefinitely. Jon and Sandy are not John and Jean-Guy but no bad things have happened at Inndulge. There are good new things and many of the good old things. Any change is being applied with a lightness of touch which recognises the goodwill that came with the property. Ours is intact and LAX immigration will see us again.

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.

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 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.

Devon & Cornwall - Day 2

It is 10pm on a Friday and this blog is the last thing I can do online tonight. I hope it is read and enjoyed. I am tired and happy; as relaxed as I get being paranoid and with OCD. It was deeply cold overnight and then all day but during that day soft sunshine slipped through the fingers of the icy hand gripping Cornwall. We intended to go to St. Ives but made it only as far as Newquay and were still perfectly happy. We ate breakfast at Piers Cafe on the A39 at Otterham Station. It was very enjoyable and of good quality ingredients. I was pleased to get a photograph at Newquay Airport before we continued into the town. It was distinctly off-season but there was still plenty to see and do. I have published photographs on Flickr and Facebook. I can't say I enjoyed my Cornish pasty lunch but perhaps that was because there was too little room on top of my breakfast. The Blue Reef Aquarium was excellent. Some of my enthusiasms and wonderment have come late to a cynical mind and today, for the first time, I was gripped by some of the things which live in the sea (not literally for those of you who might have hoped for more from my encounter with an octopus). The variety is endless and unfathomable. From Newquay we decided to head back towards Tintagel. We missed the signs to the castle but, viewing it from the Camelot Hotel, found it very disappointing as I had in fact been warned by my brother in law. Roadworks are very popular in Cornwall or at least prolific and it was a somewhat circuitous route back to Rosecare avoiding Boscastle.

We returned to Tintagel in the evening and as a family group for the improbably located 'Indian Ocean' restaurant. The food was tasty but unexceptional. Service was good but some dishes arrived at the table a little colder than they might have been.

Sexy Food, Mediaeval Wonder and Modern Art

The timing of my breaks and the fact that I had had a substantial breakfast with a furtive half slice of fried bread meant that I never did buy the alluring buttercream coated sponge which tantalised me from the red light section of the sandwich counter in our staff restaurant. The single cherry eye of this gateau-whore temptress was still in my mind as pre-lunch rumbles assailed a stomach ready for the more attainable earthly pleasures. That stomach had not quite forgotten the teasing combination of fried bread and baked beans which, in a restaurant which can not consistently provide a draining spoon, are remarkably good.

With flashes of watery winter sunshine enough to convince me that something could be salvaged from the weekend, I had eschewed rest for a drive to Salisbury. We went specifically to see modern art at the cathedral but for now my mind wanted pizza and my eyes drew me to Boston Tea Party http://www.bostonteaparty.co.uk/ . This small chain of West Country restaurants serves excellent food if my burger was anything to go by (although Greg was not quite so impressed with his slightly dry macaroni cheese). Where the earlier cake had, confusingly, been a tart, the burger which reached my table with its promised accompaniments was a fully legal, highly skilled masseur soothing me towards a culinary orgasm.

Amusingly, the following is one of (and in my opinion, the most apposite) of several quotations adorning the dining room wall: 'Great restaurants are, of course, nothing but mouth-brothels. There is no point in going  to them if one intends to keep one's belt buckled' [Frederic Raphael]

Truly the burger was about as similar to the products of nearby Burger King as I am to the inhabitants of some far distant exo-planet; one of the best I have had and with a bun which was actually made of bread which appears to be unheard of these days on the high street.

Thus fortified and with the return of drizzle never far away, we entered the precincts of Salisbury Cathedral. Even on this dull day the sight of this extraordinary edifice on the approach from the south had been deeply inspiring. Even with no sunshine to make its stone glow in the manner of such buildings the inspiration is only magnified by proximity and, inside, however lacking in religious conviction, one is moved in a visceral way by an undefinable atmosphere. As a photogapher, I was moved even more as a thousand subjects presented themselves and my humble mini-tripod supported countless available light opportunities. I could have stayed for ever. Built to the glory of God, everything in and around the cathedral celebrates every aspect of human existence whether divinely created or not.

I had travelled to see and photograph 'Water-Towers' by Bruce Munro. In the cloisters of Salisbury cathedral he has found a stunningly sympathetic setting. I shot in available light and my first picture on review caused me a sharp intake of breath and a welling of tears. The work is remarkably engaging and adds to the atmosphere as well as drawing on that which is already there. I suggest you see it before February 27th.

Both stomach and soul had been satisfied so it was hard to resent the rain which accompanied the walk back to the Old George Mall and its car park. With or without a God, life is very good.

My Day and Theirs

Some days the sky wants to suck the soul from you and today it came close but was not allowed to prevail. Early sunshine looked promising but a commensurately early departure from the house on a joyous third day off was not quick enough to escape the cloud rolling in from the west. I was determined to enjoy myself though and I did. We went first to Winchester. I had read that development plans for Stagecoach's aging garage within the bus station mean that preserved vehicles of Friends of King Alfred Buses (FoKAB) will be displaced. I hoped to see them but they are securely concealed in one half of the garage building. Nevertheless, I found that the slightly dilpidated bus station and garage exuded character and history.
I enjoyed several other aspects of the city too. Although the sun made sporadic and cheering appearances, a combination of cold and damp was pretty penetrating.


Undeterred, we went on to Ropley for the Mid-Hants Railway depot and station. There was no running today but I got several satisfactory photographs. It was very evident that snow and ice have not cleared in the middle of the county as they have closer to the coast. The Alton station car park has been poorly cleared and remained icy today. We went to Alton as somewhere I don't think I have been before. It is a fairly bland town but the experience was not unpleasant. We chose Prezzo for lunch, a chain, but one which provides excellent food. Our antipasto starter lifted the spirits. My main course of polpette was full of flavour and generously sized. I could not manage a dessert and asked for Honeycomb Smash Cheesecake to be boxed. It was not actually that long before I ate it and it was excellent. I consumed it to the Radio 5 accompaniment of Simon Amstell guesting with Richard Bacon. Amstell is brilliant (as well as very cute) and, being a Jewish man, I doubt he has ever before spent so much time in a room with Bacon. The Radio 5 presenter is currently known for Sky's 'Beer and Pizza Club', a programme which has a surprising charm accounted for in large part by Bacon himself. À propos of nothing, I nominated (in my own mind) my three favourite comedy programmes of 2010 today. I am afraid the psycho-whimsical 'Grandma's House' did not make the list which, in no particular order, includes 'Miranda', 'The Armstrong and Miller Show' and 'The Inbetweeners'.


Less amusing students were on the streets of London today in the latest protests against rises in university fees which were, inevitably, voted through today albeit by a precarious majority. What is not clearly understood by the opponents of increases in reciting their mantra of 'free' education is that it is not and can not be free. The issue is not one of whether it is paid for but at what stage of the social and educational chain and by whom. The small number of troublemakers are ill advised to make themselves known to the police and could find themselves 'rusticated' as some establishments term it. I also find the actions of the police on these occasions less than helpful. I think a lot of them like a good ruck.

London

Rarely these days do I greatly enjoy a trip to London but today was an exception. It was deeply cold but bright and the light held to allow photography to continue later than I had expected. I often feel a sort of mild desperation at this time of year. The season sucks the time from the days as time itself sucks the days from ones life. On a winters day or in life, you sometimes think you might not get everything done. Does anyone want to die with regrets? Anyway, there were no regrets today but there was some sadness.

We left Bexleyheath at our leisure. Hotel service overall had lacked attention to detail. we were compensated with reductions to our bill. Breakfast had been very good. You can't beat a good waffle (as anyone who has ever been to a Conservative Party Conference will tell you). Dipped in fried egg and maple syrup, it may well be the food the gods overlooked when they raved about ambrosia. We crossed the Thames at Dartford to enter London via the startlingly barren eastern approach. The A13 is not much of an advertisement for anything but certainly does make a case for urban regeneration. I was sidetracked by the sight of Dagenham Freightliner depot and got some rather awkward photographs. The buses I saw today were in rather secure compounds. We managed a long drive-by of the Olympic site but that does not easily lend itself to photography. I can not help but wonder what athletes, officials and freeloaders will think as they approach the site unless they are funnelled along very carefully regenerated routes. The eye of the photographer reveals east London and the City to be a very cluttered place for all that it is vibrant. Subjects are not easily captured. It was (almost) a pleasure to drive across London on a Sunday and we parked free very near Tate Britain. We took out a year's membership which I am certain will be repaid as special exhibitions are not cheap.

As a photographer, it is perhaps surprising, maybe even a little depressing that I am not much gripped by the history of the art. We went to Tate Britain for the Muybridge exhibition. We have moved on so far in the barely 150 year history of photography that I did not find very interesting the bulk of his work which was, to be fair, incredibly advanced at the time. I did enjoy the panoramas of San Francisco. Rachel Whiteread's drawings were largely a mystery to me. She should have kept them to herself as I do not believe they add anything to her better known work. I say this with some difficulty because I could neither name nor recognise a sculpture of hers but the drawings ranged from naive to futile.

A more satisfying experience altogether lay in the restaurant. The food was overpriced but indisputably excellent. The 12.5% service charge was impudent but tolerable. A salad of beetroot, watercress and goats cheese was perfect and Greg admired his parsnip soup with white truffle froth. We had very different main courses but received similar satisfaction. My raviolo (it was indeed singular) of butternut squash with black cabbage and pumpkin velouté was flawless whilst Greg's essentially traditional roast beef lunch featured  a generous portion of beautifully cooked meat. Whilst portions were by no means mean it was not solely greed which encouraged a dessert. My sticky toffee pudding had some slightly worrying textures in its fruit but sat well with its caramel sauce and vanilla ice cream. Greg's cheddar was, well, cheddary.

When a day is not gripped by all too common grey cloud, the sun is in fact fairly high still at 2.30 and 3pm. Thus it was in my favour as we visited West Drayton before continuing to the Heathrow Renaissance. My former works place now lies half demolished and soon enough, yet more flats and houses will arise. What their occupants will think of their proximity to the less salubrious areas of West Drayton, I do not know. For today, it was rather sad to stare into the guts of a building where I spent so much time. Barely two miles away in a straight line, the newborn balances the departed. At Heathrow East substantial steelwork is now in place. I hope for a better look tomorrow but I still doubt the entire development will be ready for the Olympics.

The Holiday Draws To A Close

Yesterday we went to the exhibition park of Palm Springs Gay Pride. It was dull and parochial and we left quickly. A friend described it as 'lame'. The rest of the day was about ill-advised overeating. We had lunch at Las Casuelas, a Mexican restaurant and somewhat of a Palm Springs institution. The place has a considerable capacity. We were seated quickly, served charmingly and quickly and the food was good. We went to nearby Cold Stone for ice cream which was delicious and completely unnecessary. We did all this in spite of having dinner booked at Wangs In The Desert at the not particularly late hour of 7.45. We arrived early to a busy restaurant but were seated immediately. The main impression was one of massive and intrusive noise. It was only conversations but made ones own virtually impossible. Service was remarkably efficient, attentive and accurate. Wangs serves mixed oriental rather than strictly speaking Chinese. The food was good but many elements were essentially unremarkable. Coconut shrimp could have been much more exciting and its accompanying 'aioli' was pink gloop. Once again defeated by quantity we left without dessert.

Today, Sunday, was bound to involve an undercurrent of regret and tension as it was our last day in the desert this time. We thought we might go to the aerial tramway with our friends but had agreed to go to the start point of the Palm Springs Gay Pride Parade first. A strong sun, whose effect was magnified by the clock change, needed to be periodically avoided by ducking in and out of available shadow. Quite unlike the park yesterday the parade was vibrant and very well organised. Various types of police were in attendance and others participated. Roads were re-opened swiftly and it was all very enjoyable. Our interest went on late enough to make it pointless to go up the mountain. Crowds would obviously linger in Palm Springs so we walked back to the hotel and then drove to Rancho Mirage for The Cheesecake Factory whose vast menu is not at all reflected in its name. Food there is very good but portions are, frankly, ridiculously large and even Americans think so. Service was once again excellent. It remained only to allow the afternoon and evening to drift away before printing our boarding passes. Strong winds should see us cross the Atlantic in plenty of time for 30mins holding at BNN.

Tormé's Restaurant, Palm Springs

As we have guests for the weekend, we have a series of meals planned and, with PS Gay Pride this weekend, the bookings to go with them. There was never going to be a problem then getting a seat at Tormé's, 360 N Palm Canyon Drive. I should have been more alert when Greg pointed out that the customer nearest the entrance on the outside patio was smoking and eating at the same time. She was eating meatloaf (which I do not dislike in a proper setting) and perhaps needed a cigarette to heighten her gourmet experience. I suspect that the meatloaf and chicken pot pie might have been on the menu for the people who could not afford the other items. The greeter was superficially decorative (if you like women teetering on heels entirely inappropriate for a night's work or at least work which involves walking around as opposed to, say, lying down) but essentially irrelevant as her primary role seemed to be to walk one inside to greeter #2 who had the table plan. She evidently could not visualise the four letter surname in which we had booked (mine) so led us mutely to her colleague.

I should have been considerably more alert when the waitress asked me if I wanted my pork chop medum or well cooked. I explained with only a modicum of sharpness that anything other than well cooked pork would probably see me hospitalised. Having already trodden on a cactus I could see no reason to add to my adventures for the sake of two extra minutes in the kitchen. It is perhaps hard to believe then that, when it arrived, my chop was indeed underdone, visibly pink even in the low restaurant light. I was provided with another by an apologetic chef. Neither plate had the roast potatoes I had ordered but then this was a waitress who thought I had said 'ice cream' when I ordered lemon and white chocolate cake - the one dessert item they did not have. Although the food including that of my three companions was good there was too much distraction and irritation throughout the evening. We (all four) had enquired to no real satisfactory answer as to the size of the salads, intending them as starters. We were told 'large' and that they could not be split but could be shared. We ordered two and they arrived plated as four as though splitting were in fact the easiest thing in the world. My companions' Cioppino and Rosemary Garlic Roast Chicken were fine. Mac & Cheese was tasty but the pasta was not macaroni, more like conchigliette - a detail, but you expect what you see on the menu unless told otherwise.

The recently opened restaurant appears inviting and subtly decorated but any ambience is undermined by the visible lack of cohesion amongst the staff. The venue is billed as a jazz restaurant; the music when it started was loud as much as it was live and this is not always a comfortable experience when eating. With a promising menu in place and a prime downtown location Tormé's should thrive but there is a lot of work to be done yet to ensure repeat custom.

http://www.tormespalmsprings.com/

Halloween at Inndulge

Social events are rather traumatising for me and I usually avoid them to the extent I am no longer expected to appear. There are many layered reasons for my discomfort none of which has anything much to do with the other people there, who are often be friends and colleagues with whom I can interact comfortably in other settings. I am not going to go into it but you can, if you wish, psychoanalyse me privately. It is perhaps surprising then that we actually choose to be at Inndulge for Halloween (not that we have to attend the party and not everyone does). Given in addition to the facts above, my natural aversion to drag or indeed dressing up at all, it is probably even more surprising.

The fact is the owners and their staff put an enormous amount of effort into organising events throughout the year including Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year as well as Halloween. Most of the guests as well as the owners and staff have great fun by the pool as participants or judges in the costume competition. To take a group of 20-30 to a restaurant is a challenge for both organisers and hosts. I felt some apprehension after a service meltdown on a previous occasion when, I recall, I might have briefly have become Michael Winner.

Trio at 707 N Palm Canyon Drive did not let us down. After a bit of a wait for our tables, service by a hoard of waiters, many of them main dishes in themselves, was very organised. We ate from a pre-selected menu and, in spite of my fears, plates were, as far as I could see, delivered correctly all round and certainly in a very timely fashion. A simple Caesar salad was very fresh. My pork chop was excellent and Greg's chicken too although our respective beds of mash may have been plated a little too soon to retain as much warmth as might have been ideal. Key Lime Pie was delicious but did not gain anything from a raspberry coulis. We would go again on a regular evening.

As we were still suffering from jetlag it was a tiring evening but very enjoyable, Thank you John and Jean-Guy.

Photos are on Facebook.

Owed To Joy

For a while today in the autumn sunshine and chill air, I thought I might be able again to enjoy being in London. A part of me can; the larger part can not. There are too many pressures, too many irritations and these most often weigh against the attractions.

The hotel air-conditioning had dried my throat and it felt a little tight as I drew the curtains in our suite to view the sunshine splashing across the Houses of Parliament. I saw it immediately as a photograph, substantially unoriginal but a photograph anyway and not everyone takes theirs from the third floor of the Marriott.

Our plan was to move the car to the Trafalgar Square car park but that plan died as soon as we drove past the sign warning of today's march which had the potential to be very disruptive. We drove instead to Russell Square which would be convenient for our later plans and our eventual departure from the city. We tubed to Kings Cross and I noted cool air blowing in the passageways which would likely be missing in July when most needed. The underground concourses have been substantially upgraded but the station above is another matter. London is a city of extensive and seemingly perpetual construction offering jam tomorrow and jams today for both pedestrians and vehicles. The north London station was the first building site we came across today and here the bulk of the work is inexplicable. There is much fanfare about the installation of lifts, escalators and  a footbridge at a station which already has level access. The 45 bus from outside was a convenient way to get most of the way to Tate Modern but I soon found myself locking horns with a ticket inspector. I had a ticket of course but this pointless individual boarded the bus behind us to check tickets. I don't know how he thinks anyone on board got past the driver without one. He was in plain clothes, had an aggressive manner and was not showing his ID properly. Incredibly there was a colleague on board and when they disembarked, they joined a third. I think I could spot a few more cuts George.

At the south end of Blackfriars Bridge the protracted development of the station has created another building site and caused the diversion of the Thames Path and a longer walk to Tate Modern. From the capital's bridges every horizon is a forest of cranes. Closely observed though - and I nearly took photographs today - the key activities of the workmen appear to be, in no particular order, smoking, using their mobile phones and leaning on things.

I expected disappointment at Bankside and I was not disappointed if you follow. The removal of access to and interactivity with Ai Weiwei's 'Sunflower Seeds' has sucked the joy out of the work in the way that so much outside and around sucks the joy out of the city. An essentially monochrome work within a near-monochrome environment and one on which you can no longer sit or walk, is a work without soul. Its predecessors, Doris Salcedo's 'Shibboleth' and 'How It Is' by Miroslaw Balka, exuded joy and bound you to them through interactivity. This doomed work is dead or at least in suspended animation. To reflect this I have produced many of my photographs in b&w and my images of the explanatory placard show only fragments of its text as we now receive only fragments of the work's original intent.

Within paces of Tate is the Millennium Bridge and this was closed today for a maintenance inspection lasting and incredible four days, a period of time in which you could inspect the Grand Canyon or, perhaps, the moon. This inpsection appeared to involve a handful of men in hi-vis jackets phoning their wives in Krakow and occasionally prodding something.

Crossing Southwark Bridge takes one into one of the most architecturally dense parts of the capital and still building continues. Most notable amongst the developments is Cannon Place creating yet another buidling site of considerable proportions around Cannon Street station. It is outrageous that London Underground have used construction as an excuse to close their ticket office leaving passengers to rely on machines. The Underground is an environment which would fascinate Stephen Hawking - to whom most of the networkwould be ironically inaccessible - and Brian Cox, who has the good fortune to work in Manchester. There time stretches. Dot matrix indicators are used to presage the arrival of trains. In this subterranean parallel universe a train which is '1 min' away could be almost anywhere. A minute is used as a unit of distance rather than of time. Thus a train which is stationary - much favoured of Circle Line trains - could be '1 min' away for ever and those which follow at '3 mins' and '4 mins' might never appear. The dot matrix indicators give an impression of a service interval which simply does not exist. On the matter of accessibility my more attentive fans will recall I berated the Piccadilly Line some while ago. Today, whilst my train limped to my destination, I counted on the combined District/Circle/Metropolitan Line map 10 stepless access stations out of 55. I guess Professor Hawking won't be investigating in person. Even for the able bodied person lift and escalator service has improved not one iota. Unserviceable examples of each litter the system.

From Cox to cocks; after lunch at an adequate but unremarkable Italian restaurant near Russell Square tube, we forayed to The Horse Hospital and 'Hung' a curious low-key photographic exhibition of male nudes. It took little of our time and we were due in any case to hurry to West Drayton to collect my cousin for a lift. I should have liked however to linger longer in the unusual building.

More culture behind us, Californian sunshine ahead. For now we enjoyed the slightly chilled version of UK autumn.

Crispy Pasta, Autumn Showers and the Thrill of Live Jazz

With a busy morning with my Mum and lunch made by her inside us, we set off for London. At 82 she can still cook and our beef casserole had been filling and delicious. After a fair morning, the weather had become unsettled and rain punctuated our journey. A break in the cloud illuminated very well the joyous stag at the entrance to University of Surrey in Guildford. I had left the A3 temporarily to photograph it. At BP Ripley the rain was both heavy and protracted enough to hinder our shuffles to and from the car for coffee. No-one in their right mind would pay for fuel there. My Tesco 5p/litre voucher had helped with that earlier in the day.

Our passage through the invisible but expensive Congestion Charge boundary was remarkably smooth and we were soon settled in to our suite at the County Hall Marriott. I imagine the unobstructed views of the Houses of Parliament might excite a visitor to the UK but I was able to take them in my stride. From a third floor window I was able to observe the dusk-lit rain bombarding commuter and tourist alike. It fell too on two attractive but unfortunate Chinese wedding couples who braved the inclement conditions to have some of their photographs taken with the HoP as a background.

In the persistent but now less heavy rain, we strode briskly across Westminster Bridge to the underground to start a mildly convoluted journey we might have walked in kinder conditions. This brought us to Piccadilly Circus and the erratic streets of that area to lead us to our Dean Street destination. Jazz at Pizza Express is a bit of an event and has been now for around 40 years. At the risk of sacrilege, I would suggest the atmosphere was better than Ronnie Scott's. On my limited experience so far, I wonder if anywhere makes me happier than a jazz club. I do get similar feelings at transport events and venues but here I was transported into a world far away from the Tuesday commute above us.

I do not normally expect my pasta to be crispy - several pieces were visibly scorched - and I was about to comment as my ire was already fuelled by the downstairs prices which, we had already been informed whilst waiting, were 'different' to the upstairs prices. I will not be offering prizes for guessing the nature of the difference. However, the crispy bits added something to an already good dish of pollo pesto pasta. Whilst the garlic bread with cheese was prosaic Pizza Express fare, the salad of rocket and Grana Padano was excellent. My stomach and brain were now ready for the music.

The musicians, Janette Mason (pianist/musical director), Simon Little (bass) and Paul Robinson (drums and founder member of Art of Noise), were brilliant and that it is an inadequate adjective. Difficult to say then what that makes Lea DeLaria. Singing in her Wall2Wall series the David Bowie songbook, she had, with her collaborators, come up with unbelievably wonderful jazz arrrangements of some of Bowie's (early) best. After an instrumental intro this extraordinary woman, extraordinary I should say in so many ways, bounced and barged onto stage for a memorable performance punctuated with wit worth of Stephen Fry. We heard 'TVC15' as you could never imagine it. Then 'Let's Dance' and 'Starman' before guest Ian Shaw applied his vocal gymnastics and considerable range to 'Man Who Sold The World' with a sly couple of bars of 'Laughing Gnome' before making me cry with 'Life on Mars?'. 'Fame' and 'Suffragette City' were duets to sandwich 'Jean Genie' and 'Space Oddity'. With 'Suffragette' the closer in the main set, the pair returned to stage for a remarkable improvisation in 12 bar blues on a theme of David Bowie with little flavours of 'Heroes' and 'Ziggy'.

A first sight of Lea DeLaria is, frankly, pretty scary and I did not know what to expect. It takes little time though to warm to her personality and considerable talents. She swiftly engages an audience both vocally and verbally. Her aside on her spectacles was relevantly funny to me. After the performance I spoke to all the performers and, whilst Ian Shaw was considerably more reserved than on stage, Ms DeLaria seemed only to have begun to draw on her energy reserves. It was a great evening.