Well… I’m not sure what this means exactly, but I’m open to interpretations…

• www.humdrumming.co.uk/whitenoise/blog/2007/10/29/price-insanity/

So, yes, finally, here’s the first twelve hours or so of my trip. More will be covered… when I either get around to it or when the images are up-loaded to the server from the laptop in Spain, whichever comes last (both have to have taken place, you see).

Jennifer drove me to the airport, where I checked in and surrendered my luggage to the gaping maw in the wall behind the desk. We went to a little place in the Food Fair (indicative of the quality of consumables, not the activities there) and had an oddly reasonably priced Greek Salad at a place called Opa! run by Koreans. Silly me, I hadn’t realised that Opa! was a franchise… unless Greece has a huge Korean community of which we were previously un-aware…?

When I left Vancouver it was September the 14^th at around 8:00pm. It was a nice day and looked to be a cloudless evening during sunset.

Later I was to learn that Jennifer had already replaced me with a dinner of perogies followed by mint chocolate ice cream. Nice to know what one is equivalent to: starch and fatty dairy foods.

Whilst travelling on the plane (sorry, no images of the plane… yet) I had a wonderful chat with my seat-mates as they returned to their home, and I travelled to the UK for the first time. I remember some sort of discussion about how Tony Blair was a massive waste of space and was well out of it now.

I watched two movies, neither of which I can remember the names of now. The latest Harry Potter and the new Casino Royale seem likely, but one of those might have been on the way back. Actually, I’m pretty sure the Bond film was, because some American sounding lady ahead of me commented disbelievingly on the fact that James Bond was driving a Ford in Bahamas.

The Fords of North America are not seen in the same light as they are in the UK. At all. For those of you in England, imagine James Bond behind the wheel of an Austin Metro. Not pretty, is it?

Speaking of un-attractive things, I ate on the plane a few times. Not sure why. Something about “pasta”, apparently. I didn’t believe it at the time and refuse to believe that now.

Read the rest of this entry »

Tags: A439, accident, England, Gatwick, hire car, M5, motorcycle, VW Jetta, Warwick Road, Warwickshire

So I’m back. Expect a few instalments about things. They may even be comprehensible. Don’t hold your breath, though.

Tags: Photos

I know I ought to be saying things about how things in general are with the trip (weather, driving, culture, how many times I’ve heard the word “toilet” and screamed…) but all I’ve got for you right now is a review of the RSC’s production of Twelfth Night. In a word: BRILLIANT!

Stratford After Dark [#2265] Taken outside the church where Shakespeare is buried, using tiny tripod and insanely wide lens.

I’ve seen Twelfth Night only once, as far as I know, but the difficulties inherent to the script were not entirely overcome. A very fine production it was, I quickly add, but the play is a tough one to present completely realized. It takes a very careful approach to story-telling that is both completely controlling and at the same time able to be loose enough to let the tale breathe (for a plot summation, go here).

I’d love to show you a photo of the inside of the space, but the taking of it was met with a cry akin to the WWII one of ‘put out that light!’ After being told that “there’s no photographs to be taken inside the theatre”, I pointed out that it was the interval and the performers weren’t on stage, but the reply was “there’s no photographs to…” yeah yeah yeah, shut up you ‘job’s worth’; clearly you’re neither listening to me nor brooking any logic from some up-start, long-haired Yankee (who’s actually a Canuck but you can’t tell the difference and that would send you into a real tizzie of confusion) with some flash digital camera, and so on. So, have a look at the photo of the street there on the right. Nice, eh? Yeah… Not a patch on the theatre, though, is it (if you’re really interested, head here for a gallery of the Courtyard Theatre’s construction and interior)??

What’s key to the play working — to my mind, anyway; others will probably disagree — is the scene late in the 3^rd act where Malvolio discovers the letter planted by the three sneaky bastards who wish to shame him. Malvolio has, until now, been only seen as a po-faced ice-boy who has more than a few books on etiquette and decorum shoved up his back passage sideways. Suddenly, we see that he’s been harbouring a secret passion for his mistress and would love nothing more than to give her a bit of the old ‘extra servant attention’. Suddenly he’s a steaming pile of emotional jelly as his long-crushed fires leap to the rafters and his little footman comes to attention after years of neglect. Not only so we see the other side of him, we realise how restrained the world of his household is, with his mistress still mourning her brother’s death some years ago and also still in mourning so deep she’s still wearing nothing but black (at least in this production)) and refuses to reveal her un-veiled face to anyone but the most trusted servants. He’s supported that, the entire house at the very least observes the official mourning by wearing an arm-band (ibid). The other home in the area — of the Duke Orsinio — is in a similar state of reduced joy, as the Duke is yearning for the Lady across the way and sends his new servant to woo her.

I’ll skip the long explanation about who the servant actually is and who the Lady thinks the servant is… it’s a farce, so everyone falls in love with the wrong people for the wrong reasons, but everything’s right in the end (oddly, no-one runs off into the forest at any time, though… I’m pretty sure it’s Shakespeare…).

Anyway… Read the rest of this entry »

Tags: Courtyard Theatre, Festes, John Lithgow, Malvolio, Photos, REVIEWS, Royal Shakespeare Company, RSC, Shakespeare, Tom Waits, Twelfth Night

So two weeks and I’m off! Not long then, no.

I’ve passed excited, then terrified, and am now at the point of “can’t we just get this fucking over with so I can relax and drink wine in Spain?”

I’m sure as the æroplane’s tyres leave the tarmac I shall be filled with my typical thought:

WHAT AM I DOING? THIS IS ALL WRONG!! THIS THING SHOULDN’T BE ABLE TO DO THIS! WHY IS THE HUGE, HEAVY OBJECT RISING FROM THE GROUND?!? WE BELONG DOWN THERE, NOT UP HERE DEFYING ALL THE GOD-GIVEN PHYSICAL LAWS!!

Later on I’ll turn to wondering if the mechanics of the ‘plane will fail, a bomb will be ignited, some wack-o will attack the pilot(s), or a crate of serpents will be opened in the hold. The flight’s 9½ hours… there’s a lot that can be worried about during 9½ hours… and I’m an over-achiever, so…

Am I nervous? Not really, just one possessing a logical mind. I sit in a seat, look out the window, the plane leaves the ground, I realize I am now 300 feet up, humans aren’t built for that, I comprehend things are wrong, and logically panic. Fairly straight-forward.

Granted, once the plane’s up, I’m fine; it’s the time before the ground becomes so far away it looks like a satellite map that I’m a bit uncomfortable. Landing and taking off are, after all, 95% of all the times anything can — and usually does — go wrong on a flight. Let’s face it, trans-Atlantic mid-air collisions are not ten to the penny. Badly placing an A330 in the middle of some built-up area of Norwich, however, is a bit more statistically likely.

Am I used to long travel? Hell no. I’m able to recall every single time I’ve travelled by plane with crystal clarity. They number only four total occasions (in round trip terms), the most recent when I met Jennifer in California nine years ago [image from the trip, left]; the first being when I was four or so and we flew about as far as London to Paris.

Yes, really.

The advice I’ve heard about dealing with jet-lag, etc is much like what Cotts advised me to do:

There is a fairly simple answer to making the flight better for yourself and unsurprisingly it is ‘Cure All’! I implemented such a plan when flying back from the US a couple of weeks ago. Don’t be afraid to ask for more than one drink when they come round in the beginning of the flight, I found that 2 large Gin and Tonics and and airline sized bottle of wine did the trick. After that, you will eat your somewhat tasteless meal and be asleep before you know it. Job done.

A fine plan, except that I’ll be flying on an airline where they demand payment for their tiny servings, but according to him, the better price is had paying in Dollars than Sterling. No idea why, but apparently the price is better.

Anyway, the procedure I’m intending to follow doesn’t involve the cure-all. Eat lightly or snack/graze, drink much liquid (juice, water, etc) but no liquor, stay awake or nap lightly, arrive and eat the local meal at the correct hour, then sleep at the same schedule as the locals.

Ta-da; instant native adjustment. I’m told.

However, I have a nine-hour-plus flight that leaves at almost 9:00pm local time, arrive in the early afternoon at Gatwick on the Saturday, then drive up the motorway to Stratford (getting out of Greater London as fast as possible to avoid the gits who drive the area blind-folded… and may actually do so). So maybe the cure is good to put me to sleep, then wake-up on the plane at 8:00am GMT, and then adjust from there?

It seems that plans are well under-way for welcoming committees to line the streets of Shakespeare’s Stratford upon my arrival. According to our man on the ground there, the locals have been constructing a triumphal arch in the main street, the hotel is altering its menu to include a salmon course to be followed by maple syrup marinated caribou steaks then dessert of raspberry pie with Canadian cheddar on top. All accompanied with a flight of Okanagan wine, naturally.

The local shops will have “Grade, Eh?” sales as well, with prices of “whatever you can carry out is free” for anyone carrying a valid Canadian passport. Looking forward to getting my own Jester’s cap with jingling bells.

Then, on to FantasyCon, which is September the 21^st through the 23^rd inclusive, at the Britannia Nottingham Hotel (formally Holiday Inn Nottingham City Centre part of the Intercontinental Group), #1 St James Street, Nottingham [image, below left], and we’re staying there as well as the events being held in the convention rooms due to it being, according to the promotional bumpf:

…the city’s premier hotel. Adjacent to Nottingham Castle, it has a superb city centre location and is the perfect base for exploring all the sights of Nottingham.

The hotel is situated near to Nottingham Castle, Trent Bridge Cricket Ground, Victoria Shopping Centre and the Nottingham City business district, proving an ideal location for both business and pleasure. Nottingham is also renowned for its vibrant and popular nightlife.

Night life which includes being dragged up an alley and getting the boots, apparently. The city has the distinction as being ‘one of England’s Hard Cities’. Never saw having six types of shit out of one’s body as either “popular” or “vibrant”, but I suppose it takes all sorts…

Somewhere in the hotel will be the “Dealers’ Room” for the British Fantasy Society’s “FantasyCon”, or failing that we’ll be in the hotel’s pub. Friday we’re out for curry around 10:30 with a gang of famous authors (well, “industry fame”, not popular variety) but we’ll be easy to spot either earlier that evening or the next day. I’m sure asking at the desk during the event will cause them to roll their eyes and beg you to drag us from the building so that their rooms will be in fewer pieces.

And let’s look at those rooms…

All bedrooms are maintained to a high standard, and are decorated in a bright, and contemporary style. All beds now feature a luxury duvet and cotton bedcovers.

If that’s the way my room’s decorated, there’s no way I won’t wake up quickly in the morning. ‘Strooth! Turn on the light and I’ll be alert, that’s for sure! Hangovers will be especially painful, I expect.

Speaking of which, I’m told that last year, the hotel’s pub (Calahan’s [image, below left]) ran out of beer on the first evening. Literally ran dry of beer. The amount they had on hand they expected was to last the entire week-end. But it was tapped-out after one evening. The pub didn’t re-open until they had received a new delivery from the brewers the next day. This was deemed to be “far too late in the day” and it ought to have re-opened far earlier than 11:00 to quell the complaints.

That’s 11:00 in the morning.

No, that’s not hyperbole.

“It’s quite disturbing how much these people can drink”, as The Velvet Prince says.

I intend to blog from there as access and brain-clarity permit. Here’s hoping.

Tags: Air Transat, AirTransat, FantasyCon, jet-lag, money (lack of it), Nottingham, plane, pointlessness, Simon Strantzas, travel