Home from home

So I'm on my way home. From being at home. It gets a bit confusing when you leave home (in Australia, where I live) to go home (where my parents live and where I grew up) and then have to return home after you've been home. It's one of those things that people who haven't migrated don't really think about and some people, like my twitter friend @ramnaslady, have been doing it with their families for a long time. It never gets easier when you have to wander through the magic door at Heathrow into the "security area", even though twitter and Skype do mean you can actually see your loved ones now. It's not quite teleportation but it does reduce the distances a little. Unless you need to give them a lift anywhere, then you're just stuck on the opposite side of the planet.

For once the trip to Heathrow wasn't filled with drama, the car didn't break down, no one was sick and it didn't snow. Well actually it did snow but for once the Forest of Dean District Council actually managed to salt the roads and keep the traffic flowing. However because my father hates driving on the M4 (understandably) we had to go over the Cotswolds to Oxford. It's usually a beautiful drive through woods and valleys but with the snow it was stunning. All ice draped trees and rolling snowy meadows. And people driving at 20 miles per hour as they are petrified of any sort of weather. This may be wise at night in icy conditions, but during the day on well salted roads it's just a pain in the arse.

The trip through Heathrow was spectacularly quick with absolutely no passengers about. I'd recommend 18:15 flights as they seem to be really quiet. I mean the 'plane was full but the check in area and public undressing areas were eerily quiet. Sorry I mean 'security areas'. I'm getting more and more annoyed with the security theatre at airports. What exactly does it achieve, making old ladies take off their shoes and having small children rubbed down by a security guard who is paid so little, and has such a poor level of education, that they are ripe for both bribery and brainwashing. It's not as if the people running the security are even police personnel. They're employed by ISS. This is the company who usually contracts for cleaning hospitals and schools. And we know how great they are at that.

The flight was uneventful apart for the strange obsession got about 5 hours in that we were going to have an incident of some description. I don't know what or why but it got in my head and only went with the help of pharmaceuticals. I thought I was getting so good at flying with out my anti-anxiety drugs but pride comes before a fall as the old saying goes. Actually that's not a great turn of phrase in the circumstances.

So I've been in Singapore for the last couple of days. I'm not sure why I booked a stop over this time. I've got nothing to buy, I've done pretty much every tourist thing there is to do here and I could have gone straight home to rescue the cat from the cat stalag. I suppose it's a way to acclimatise to the weather and get over the jet-lag.

I have been to two new places though. Firstly is the Marina Bay Sands Casino. Well I say I've been there but, this being Singapore, I couldn't actually get in. Only here would they build a casino then try and keep people out to protect them from temptation. If you're a tourist you can only get in if you show your passport and that's not an item I tend to carry with me on the off chance that I want to enter a tourist trap. If you're a local then you can only enter if you pay $100 a day. I think this is to try and ensure that the casino only takes money from Chinese punters but, judging by the queue at the 'residents only' entry, it's not working. At all. So if you come to Singapore and want to loose some money in a hideously carpeted American style mega-casino remember to bring your passport.

If you can't get in then you can wander around the Shoppes At Marina Bay. Yes it is spelled like that, with two ps and an e. I'm not sure why as the place doesn't really look like the usual user of an antique, made up spelling. It's just another super-mall full of high end stores and celebrity chef restaurants. How one small island state supports all these identical shopping malls amazes me. How many Fendi and Prada shops (or shoppes if you will) do you need? None of them seem to have customers in, and the ones that do are obviously tourists just having a sticky beak. Or is that just what I do? However if you want to see proof that money and taste are mutually exclusive then these 'shoppes' are a good place to start. I've never seen so many semi-precious stone encrusted handbags, shoes, cigarette holders, paintings, watch winders and mobile phones in one place. Why do self made Chinese millionaires/communist party officials (they're the same thing) have such abominable taste? Are their houses full of Burberry themed jade and opal life size dragons? O, while I think about it, how does Vertu, the "luxury" mobile 'phone company, manage to con people into paying $5000 for what's basically a Nokia phone from 1998? I thought rich people were meant to be clever and we should all aspire to be like them? Seems like if you make it glittery and "exclusive" enough they'll buy anything.

You can also visit the ArtScience Museum if you're down at the casino area. It's another of those Landmark Buildings that cities feel they have to build to get attention. I think Sydney started it with the Opera House and now everyone needs a swoopy/pointy/pudenda-shaped architectural experiment to make their mark. The problem with this is that none of them will ever be as brilliant and beautiful as Jørn Utzon's Opera House. In evidence I give you the Swan Bells. Or the Burj Khalifa. Or anything by Frank Gehry. Or nearly all buildings over 20 stories built in the last 15 years. Yes I'm looking at you The Shard. What has happened is a blight of monstrosities that are dating rapidly and, worse, degrading rapidly. The ArtScience Museum is a perfect example of this. When you first see it you think "hmm that looks interesting". Then the subsequent times you think "hmmm that's just trying too hard". From a distance it looks shiny and new, which it should as it's only been open fourteen months, but up close the fibreglass shell is stained, the paint is peeling and there are obvious water leaks.

As a museum/gallery it's a bit odd too. I went to see an exhibition of Lego sculptures by Nathan Sawaya. He gave up a job as a corporate lawyer to become a Lego artist. Ok, live the dream and all, more power to him but though technically very clever, the ideas and descriptions were like a high school art event. Lots of convoluted descriptions to make the piece sound more deep than it actually appears to be. At the risk of sounding like a wanker I'd say artistically vacant. This could be the most blatantly commercial artist I've ever seen, and I've been to a Jeff Koons retrospective. The other exhibit was some of the Magnum photographic archive. Interesting mostly for the side displays on the development of photography that barely mentioned film and chemicals. We truly are in a digital world now. As per usual I wandered round wondering why these photographers are artists and manage to make a living out of it while I live in fear of a career change to study the art. I may be having a mid life crisis, all be it eight years after buying a sportscar.

One last last thing about the Marina Bay Sands complex. It's the first, and so far only, place in Singapore where I've experienced poor service. I was seated and ignored for 20 minutes in a Coffee Bean And Tea Leaf. I walked out and had a bit of a moan at the manager. Then I went to TWG for a pot of tea and a scone and had to watch the staff messing about, wait for service and ask three times for some water. Very odd. I'm wondering if it's because the whole places run by a non-Singaporean corporation (the American Sands Casino Corp).

So I'm going to spend the last day sitting by the pool with a beer and a book before I go upstairs and try to make my 29kg of luggage miraculously weigh 20kg. Hopefully I can find some sort of space time anomaly hidden in my wash bag that'll help.

Love the night life

So what have I been doing with my evenings I hear you ask? Surely in the entertainment capital of the world (conditions apply, I hear New York might not agree) there is loads to do.

Well yes there is loads to do but if you are as loath to plan ahead too far, as I am, then you might find there is bugger all to do in the evenings. I did get some tickets to a BBC radio recording which I arranged weeks ago, but this is pretty much the only thing I had arranged before I got here. So what to do?
Well you could brave the half-price ticket booths which are all round the place here and see if you can get some returns. In fact there a so many "half-price" places here it begs the question of who actually pays for full price tickets? I suspect that half price may be a bit of an exaggeration i.e. a complete lie.
Another option is to traipse round the theatre box offices and try and get a bargain. This does sometimes happen as they often release a tranche of £10 tickets each morning to ensure the place is full. This was what I was going to do to see Privates On Parade, and yes it does sound like a musical version of a Carry On movie. Unfortunately the box office doesn't open till 10 and I was already in the anatomy exhibit at the museum of London by then. The third option is to completely fluke it. This is the option I chose.

Before I came there had been lots of tweeting from Stephen Fry about the version of Twelfth Night he was in at the Globe and I thought that sounded like fun. Unfortunately by the time I got here the Globe would be closed for the winter and I'd be out of luck. There was some Shakespeare on in The West End but it was Richard III and my winter is already discontenty enough thanks very much. However, for once the gods of theatre, or Time Out magazine to be more accurate, we're on my side. It turns out that Dick III and Twelfth Night were in rep together, both playing sort of simultaneously. So it was still on! Off to the website I trundle to book tickets only to find that premium seats are the only ones left. Hmmm, well I'm sure that won't be too expensive. After all there are no royalty fees to pay to Shakespeare as its pretty much out of copyright now.

£80 and a bit of hyperventilating later I was the owner of seat H13 at the Apollo on Shaftesbury Avenue. Only for three hours mind. For that money I thought I'd have it in perpetuity. How on earth can it cost that much to see Shakespeare thought I?

Well pretty easily it turns out when I read the programme and discovered that, unlike amateur productions which make Olivia's frock out of an old tablecloth, this version had the silk woven especially by some artisan somewhere. The set was made out of oak. And the cast were actually in the process of holding two full length Shakespearian plays in their heads. AT THE SAME TIME! I think they deserve a pretty big pay check for that alone. I could barely remember enough quotes to pass my English Lit O Level. In fact I didn't pass my English Lit O Level so there you go, though I partly blame Mrs Protheroe for that as she was the worst teacher of Shakespeare my school could find. Possible something to do with the fact that she was a fully qualified music teacher.

The whole experience was fantastic to be honest. At the Apollo I mean, not at school. I did study Twelfth Night for my mock exams (failed those too) but I don't remember it actually being funny. But it is when real actors do it and it's not being read by semi literate 15 year olds in a demountable classroom on a rugby pitch. The seat was great, right in the middle and not far back and when I got there the cast were all having their makeup and hair done on stage. I think this was an affectation and not a comment on the state of the dressing rooms of west end theatres. It was odd but quite interesting. I also thought it was a bit odd that some of the actors appeared to be putting on very big frocks. Oooooh. It's an all male version. All very authentic. I've never seen one of these and suspected it might be a bit lame and gimmicky. It actually was brilliant, in no small part because of the actors skills and mainly because of the plot: A girl gets shipwrecked and disguises herself as a boy then falls in love with her master who doesn't realise she's a girl while at the same time he's in love with another woman who is in love with our heroine while she's dressed as a boy and there's a brother and a manservant and lots of mistaken identity. You know, the usual completely realistic high art plot points (opera is pretty much the same, but then so is panto. Go figure).

Anyway the fact that the girls were played by boys dressed as girls and one boy was dressed as a girl dressed as a boy added quite a bit of hilarity and sauciness to the proceedings. I definitely don't remember so much thinly veiled homoeroticism in the reading at high school. It was altogether brilliant. I laughed and three hours flew by, which is more than can be said for the Les Mis movie. I'm pretty sure that if I had seen it at the Globe there would have been more audience participation (the cast really had to work to make us join in, which is surprising considering how much other noise the audience was making. The constant coughing added some consumptive authenticity I suppose) but the seats would have been much more uncomfy.

I'd recommend going to see it, but it's sold out and finishes in a few weeks so you can't. Sorry. There's a review HERE which is much more eloquent than I can be.

The next night was a completely different ball game. I was having a look online and saw a lecture advertised at the British Film Institute about the representation of ancient Egypt in TV and film. I thought it sounded interesting and sounded a bit Victorian, you know, attending a public lecture for the edification and education of the public.

How wrong I was. My first warning should have been the other people who turned up in the audience. Lots of twitching, mumbling and nylon socks. It turns out that the BFI lectures are for freaks and weirdos and involve a couple of lecturers from UCL showing clips from bad, so so bad, 1970s ITV dramas blatantly not illustrating the complex educational points they are trying to make. It also allows them to show absolutely loads of clips from Dr Who. This explained the nylon sock brigade. About an hour of Dr Who through the ages, out of context admittedly, just proved to me how utterly terrible it was and still is. Avoid then the BFI lecture series. Unless you are a lover of man made fibre.

Last night was my aforementioned trip to the BBC to see the recording of Elvenquest. It's a spoof of every epic questing story you've ever read or seen and it's surprisingly funny. It was great just to be able to get inside Broadcasting House and see the people working in the newsroom. Well I say working, it must be a bit hard to concentrate with five tv monitors in every workspace and robotic cameras flying over head. The recording was in the Radio Theatre but we were all held in the bar area till it started. It was very much like being at the Goldfields Rep Club but with better coffee. In fact the similarities were enhanced when the front of house woman arrived. She was old, confusing and very disorganised. Makes me even more proud of the BBC.

The recording was fascinating and confirmed a few things I've always suspected about the Beeb. Firstly the sound system in the theatre was amazing, the sound effects perfect and interval music unusual. Secondly it would appear that they still draw all their production staff from expensive schools, judging by Sam our producer for the night. Very posh, very floppy haired and about fifteen years old.

The cast were great, with Steven Mangan and Darren Boyd and Kevin Eldon. Three of my favourite comic actors in the world. It never ceases to amaze me that actors who become really successful will still return to the BBC to make a silly little radio show. I think it shows the love and esteem that such an odd institution engenders. I wonder if Fox has the same loyalty? If you are ever in London you should try and get tickets for a BBC show. They're free and really let you see the process involved. In fact actors must love radio. No costumes, no make up, no scene changes and you just read the script while you're going along.

Anyway it's my last day in the big smoke and the only place left on my list of to dos is closed on Mondays. Bum! So I need to kill four hours while carrying all my luggage on my back. That is the worst aspect of the increase in terrorism; London hotels won't hold your luggage anymore...

Well not really cheap hotels.

Child of my time

I went to the V&A Museum of Childhood today. It's great for a number of reasons.
Firstly; it's in Bethnal Green, which is probably as East Endy as you can get and still be in Zone 1. I know it's the East End as there was a bloke talking on his 'phone about how '''e always was a squealer that one, he grassed us all up when they ripped 'im". I'm not making that up. I wrote it down when I heard it. Definitely the East End. (Actually it's in Zone 2 but only just).

Secondly; it's great because it's a really old fashioned museum, basically a big iron framed building full of glass fronted cases full of stuff. Don't get me wrong, I love a touch screen, interactive history of the nocturnal habits of the Aye-Aye as much as anyone, but sometimes there's no substitute for a glass case full of old stuff. Visit the mammal gallery at the West Australian Museum in Perth and you'll know what I mean.

Thirdly; for a museum of childhood there wasn't a single child in there. Unlike the anatomy and body snatching exhibition I went to this morning. Not hugely appropriate for a school trip in my opinion but then I'm not a teacher. Perhaps all grade 5 children need to see the mounted, flayed and shellacked remains of a three year old boy.

Fourthly, and most importantly; it's FULL of crap that I either owned, or desperately wanted, as a kid and had forgotten. I could list it all, but instead here are the pictures. Apologies if you are either not old enough or not British enough to remember any it, but I am on both counts so think of it as a window on my psyche.




My mate had one of these. He was spoiled rotten and I thought it was the pinnacle of technology.




I actually had a few "Disney's Black Hole" toys. It was their attempt to cash in on Star Wars and the money to be made from merchandising. It was a terrible movie and was a black hole for Disney's money too. Oh and the toys were really badly made.




I don't remember Weebles being as syndromic looking as this.




Even I'm not old enough to remember the Beatles version of this. Maybe it "amuses the whole family" but not for long I'll warrant.




Now this really was a tech miracle. In fact it miraculously keeps Alan Sugar on national tv to this day. I was more of a spectrum boy but never had one.. Too expensive :-(




I had this. It projects (poorly) frames from the movie on to walls. But only if less than a foot away in complete and utter darkness. One of many Christmas disappointments perpetrated by the Grattan's Catalogue.




Yes! That's the real Muffin The Mule.




I loved these, much sturdier than Lego. They did collect every bit of fluff and filth from the environment though. Never survived the end of the seventies and the sudden obsession with uninfected children's toys.




I had this too. It was much less fun than it looked unless you stuck the fake scars and moustaches onto yourself. I think the glue was child safe but I do have vague memories of nail polish remover being involved somewhere.




Those damn Weebles again. Their unique selling point? They wobbled but didn't fall down. They were simpler times.




Yes, I would have looked like this in 1978. I was a trend setter then too.




Kids today don't have enough board games about crossing the road. I preferred the Green Cross Code Man. He was Darth Vader on his days off. How much cooler could he be?!




Ahh the Seventies, when radical social workers produced pamphlets for children telling them how to riot and demonstrate and what to do if they were busted by the pigs. Happier times.




The ultimate need and the ultimate disappointment, I never got a Raleigh Chopper, the icon of the UK in the 1970's. Probably as I didn't learn to ride a bike until I was way to old to be learning to ride a bike. I did get the icon of the 1980's though; a Raleigh Grifter. It was like riding a bike made out of girders.




Finally, not something I owned or wanted, I just wonder when Mattel will make a Ken that actually looks like he'd be happier with Barbie than living with another Ken?

Ooop North

So we went north to Yorkshire and, contrary to the old saying, it's not actually that grim up there.

In fact York is beautiful. It's full of old streets and lane ways (or ginnels if you speak northern) like the one up there. That's called the Shambles and it's in all the tourist brochures. I assumed that it would be the only quaint, wonky old street and the rest of the city would be a normal British high street with the same chain stores and plastic fronts. And empty, bankrupt shops. You know like all tourist bumf it only shows you the good bits and makes you assume that everything else is the same, kangaroos on the beach springs to mind.

However in York the whole city was like a Harry Potter set. I would not have been remotely surprised to come across a wand shop. I mean there are still all the usual chain stores but they all blend in. Even the McDonalds was discrete.

There's even an almost complete city wall with gates and everything. Sadly they don't close the gates at dusk to keep the chavs out so there was noticeable Tennants Extra consumption after dark. This is nothing unique to York, it's just the English disease. (I mean public drunkenness not private flagellation, the other English disease according to the French). I did go for a bit of a walk on the walls but it was so icy it was a bit unnerving, especially with the lack of safety railings. It seems historic buildings are immune from the British obsession with health and safety. I'm not sure that's a good thing when your four stories up on a slippery mediaeval monument.

York is also famous for its Minster. Which is a cathedral to you and me. It's big, it's cathedrally and it's £9 to get in. Seems a bit steep really for an organization based on the teachings of a man who preached poverty and modesty. They try to make it sound like a bargain by making the tickets valid for twelve months, which as a tourist is a complete waste of time. Though I did go back the next morning to get my money's worth.




I have to say I was expecting much more from the Minster. It only took about half an hour to get round and see everything, there aren't even any famous people buried here. Even Gloucester has a king and a prince. It was worth a visit to see how much the high Anglicans still wish they were Catholics. You can tell from the candles that they are itching to get out the smells and bells. There's even a chapel containing the Holy Sacrament. It's like that whole reformation thing was just a short term experiment.

We also had a day trip to Whitby. It's on the coast about an hour north of York. It's quite famous, mostly among Goths and weirdos, as the place that Dracula came ashore. Now you may think that Dracula was just a story, but to some parts of the population (see above) its very real. Sadly for the eyelinered and black coated people in town last week there was only disappointment as most of the tourist sites were shut, including the famous Abbey. This is as close as I could get:




It's very atmospheric, interesting and historic. Apparently. This is a recurrent problem with traveling in January, especially in January in seaside towns. You get there, all planned, and then everything is shut. It was the same at the Captain Cook museum. Yes, that one. The man who discovered (or managed to notice, depending on your politics) Australia came from a small seaside town in North Yorkshire. It's no wonder he headed to the tropics as it was bloody freezing in Whitby.

So annoyingly the two places I really wanted to see this trip were both inaccessible. But the third was open. I'm talking about chips. And fish. I had never been to a place with so many fish and chipperies. Both Whitby and York had dozens of them. I can sort of understand it in a fishing village, but was a bit surprised in York. There weren't even that many fat people waddling around. We went to Mr Chips. It was excellent and reasonably priced and included mushy peas. Perfection on a cold day.

Another pleasant surprise was the number of tea shops in Yorkshire. Not even tea "shoppes" aimed at the tourists, these were real local bakeries with cafés attached. We went to Botham's in Whitby and it was like being in an episode of one of those heart warming Sunday evening ITV dramas (I'm thinking Heartbeat) as everyone knew each other, they were all local and there were only white faces.

I don't think I've ever been to such a culturally homogenous place. Although I have to say after living in Australia you do notice how monocultural it is in a lot of places in the UK, especially outside the big cities. I'm not making any political comments on this, it's just an observation before the immigration nutters start up.

I'm glad to report that the final place I wanted to go was also open. It was the National Railway Museum and it's nowhere near as nerdy and trainspottery as you might think. It's also free to get in, although they do stand at the entry and tell you it's free but you can donate right now if you would like. Obviously I didn't succumb to this museum mugging, but I did put money in the box when I left as it was well worth a tenner. We were in there for three hours and still didn't see it all. Who knew trains were so interesting? Especially the royal carriages. The old ones were beautiful and opulent. The current one not so much. That's the problem with becoming queen in the 1950s, your fancy train comes with a lot of Formica. It was exotic at the time I guess.

It was odd to see the trains I always wanted for my Hornby set in real life, especially the Mallard.




The fastest steam train ever (apparently/possibly) at over 125 MPH. the trains we've got now don't go much faster than that, though they do require less shovelling. The other odd thing about the NRM was that, even though I've never been there before, I'd seen it on Blue Peter so many times as a kid that I was getting constant déjà vu. This happens a lot if you were a Blue Peter watcher: York Minster, Jorvik Centre, Whitby RNLI, Simon Groom's farm in Dethick, it's seems like you've been to them all.

Actually that's showing my age, you can age anyone in this country by the Blue Peter presenters they first remember. Mine is Lesley Judd and John Noakes, the lads on the tube the other week were reminiscing about Konnie Huq.

That made me feel very old.

Here and there again

Yep, I'm traveling again, been back in the old country for Christmas and thought I should probably try and get back to this blogging business. Maybe that can be a New Year Resolution. It'll make up for my usual resolution to not have resolutions.

The flight over was uneventful, except for having to do the first leg in economy. I don't mind this but I do get a bit pissed off when the lovely Singapore airlines ladies are trying to force food on me at 3 in the morning. Just let me sleep goddamn it and I'll get some brekkie at Changi. After all I had 6 hours to kill. Still at least the red eye from Perth was pretty quiet. Even babies and bogans have to sleep at some point.

I'd booked a long layover in Singapore because I thought I'd have to check imagine as I'd booked two separate tickets, one, using my points, to Singapore and back and one, which I paid for, from Singapore to London and back. It turns out you don't need to recheck in so I had the aforementioned six hours to kill. Luckily at Changi that's not too hard and I had loads of 30 Rock on the iPad to distract me.

The next leg was in the pointy end and was as lovely as ever, apart from the two people sitting in front of me. One was a designer for Dyson and the other was a derivatives trader and they were both dicks. Constant discussion of who had worked where and who had spent the most on their car/house/ticket/whisky/Christmas presents. Very tedious and very loud too. It would seem they're based in Singapore to keep them away from civilized people. The flight was unusual as it was mostly during awake time, normally I do the night flight, so it was odd to be able to see the ground for a fair bit of the trip. Here is a picture of some Himalayas:

And here's a picture of London:




I think you can just make out Tower Bridge and the City but no evidence of a sky diving Queen (first Olympic reference). It always amazes me that the flight path into HeaThrow is directly over central London. All these heavily laden, massive aircraft flying right over the centre of the most populated city in the UK. Good job they took the bottles of water off us all before we got on or think of the havoc that could be wreaked.

You may notice the difference in picture framing and quality between those two. That's what happens after nine hours on a plane, I loose my eye a bit.

So I'm back and Christmas has been and gone, I've eaten too much, drunk too much and got cold and wet. A few things are noticeably different here, but I'll get onto that tomorrow.

'Till then here's some of the green and pleasant lands.