Lighthouse family

The glorious weather continues, which is disconcerting. It's been so long since we had any prolonged spells of sunshine - about 2 years, I think - that more than an afternoon of warm, blue-skied sunnyness makes me feel slightly awkward.

It's a bit like being at someone's house when they're out. You don't quite know what to do with yourself, so end up sitting somewhere quietly waiting for them to get back and make tea or something. Or is that just me?

Except at Bestest Mate's house, obviously, where I make my own tea and read all his magazines, whilst listening to loud music. Heh.

So. The Olympics are coming. Specifically, some of the maritime stuff is heading for Weymouth (look on a map, American readers), where a huge new road is being constructed on the way into the town. We drove past it yesterday and it was like a four-year-old's best day out ever. Enormous construction vehicles all over the place, scraping gravel into flat road shapes, diggers shifting stuff from one huge heap to another, cranes and rollers galore.

I'd have stopped to gawp properly but we were On A Mission.

Mr WithaY's drysuit had sprung a leak, so we had to take it to the shop and get it booked in for repair. Is there anything quite as boring as a dive kit shop, when you are a non-diver?

I ask you.

There are no clothes to try on, except huge complicated techno-suits which look like they take hours to struggle in to, and comedy rubber bootees which frankly I can try on at home when Mr WithaY is out*. There are no books to read, apart from dull technical dive books. There isn't even a place to sit and get a drink, unless you count the salt-encrusted sea-dog-frequented coffee machine in the corner. Ugh.

So, I amused myself by reading all the labels on the various lube bottles, and devising ways to silence the incredibly irritating Northern woman who was showing off loudly in the middle of the shop in a voice which put me in mind of Victoria Wood doing her "Gormless Teenager" character.

After we'd finished at the Shop of No Interest (Unless You're A Diver)TM we went on to look at Portland Bill.

Not a friend, a place.

It was lunchtime, so we went to the Lobster Pot right on the edge of the coast and had crab sandwiches. Mmmmmm crustaceolicious. Being fat greedy bastards we also had a cream tea.

Excellent.

There are some lighthouses and things on the Bill. And fog horns, apparently.



The lighthouse is mighty impressive, and there is also a funky monolith nearby.



I liked the monolith very much, although it did make me want to bash things with bones.



Mr WithaY had planned to go sea fishing today, but it was cancelled due to the weather. Check out the wild white water out at sea here...that's where he was supposed to be fishing.



It was lovely onshore though, a bit breezy, but otherwise you might have been in the Mediterranean. Look at the colour of the water!



And back to London tomorrow, where it will probably piss down with rain.




*They look divine. I might take a picture some day if you're good.

Festive. Not feet-ive

So, how has everyone been?

I really didn't feel much like blogging for a few days, but luckily the commute to and from London has stirred my bile duct sufficiently to type out a few sentences. And I am writing this on the train home, listening to the Alabama 3 at the same time.

This new iPhone is bloody excellent and I heartily endorse it. And if Apple want to send wads of cash in return for my praise, I will probably get ever more effusive.

Work has been really hectic. I went back yesterday after the Easter break, and was delighted to once again witness the Tamils protesting vehemently outside the Houses of Parliament.

I'm away from the office tomorrow and Thursday on a training course, so have been frantically getting all my deliverables to the people I promised them to. Managed it, too. Yay me.

I was supposed to be at home this afternoon, and head over to Bestest Mate's house this evening. The cunning plan was to stay there tonight and leave v early tomorrow to get to my course. Sadly Bestest Mate has succumbed to Lurgy and is apparently snotty and grumpy, so instead I will be getting up at Oh FFS Hours tomorrow and going from home.

Right. My hand's getting cramp.

Might tell you about the outrageous scallop-fest when I get home. If I can stay awake.

Little things

Today I have been mostly fed up, and slightly weepy, but that might be because I have woken up at 0530 for the last few days, and it is a pain in the arse, frankly, being this tired.

Was in London today, but lacked the energy to walk anywhere. I only managed to drag my weary carcass across Westminster Bridge before catching the Tube this morning, and then copped out and got the Tube all the way back to Waterloo this evening.

Remembering that there is very little actual food in the house, I decided to call into the supermarket before I came home. In my head, this meant that I would eat a proper supper tonight and have food in the house tomorrow so I can eat sensibly during the day.

I fantasised about picking up a hot roasted chicken and some fresh salad, maybe with some fresh pineapple afterwards. However, at 8pm on a Tuesday night, the supermarket has sold all the hot chickens, cleaned the rotisserie, and is trying to flog off the rock hard baguettes to groups of young Scouse squaddies.

It is not interested in providing a well-chosen and dainty evening repast to a woman who has been travelling for fucking hours.

Supper this evening actually consisted of 2 Scotch eggs, a handful of little tiny cherry tomatoes, and a big glass of flat fizzy water with some lemongrass squash in it. I am waiting for a knock on the door from Jamie Oliver and the food police as I type.

Anyhoo, I was mooching around the place with my little hand basket, biting my lip and feeling sorry for myself, composing a sad, sad blog post in my head about how cruel everything is, and how unbearable, and how awful and lonely, and how much I hate my life. I was in some danger of going emo.

I rounded a corner into the MEAT aisle, and there in front of me was a large, rotund chap dressed in the height of West Wiltshire chic.

He had on a pair of baggy blue tracksuit bottoms, or possibly overalls, tucked into workboots liberally splattered with crud. His huge saggy torso was encased in an ancient, equally saggy, green sweatshirt, also crud-encrusted. Topping off the ensemble was a jaunty black woollen hat, looking much like the teat of a baby's bottle, perched high on his head, emphasising his red cheeks and shiny jowls.

I sighed heavily, thinking how terrible life is when you are faced with such things.

As I dragged myself past him, possibly swinging my arms like Kevin the Teenager, I heard the opening bars of "Oi've got a braaan new comboin aaaarvester". I shook my head, clearly overtired and imagining Wurzels songs in the middle of the supermarket.

But no. Mr West Wiltshire Fashion reached into the pocket of his trousers, pulled out his mobile, and answered it with a huge grin on his face, after letting the Wurzels get almost all the way through the first verse.

It made me laugh out loud, just as soon as I got round the corner, and suddenly life felt less like a hideous struggle.

Other news: Mr WithaY called from his windswept hostel in the remote Welsh countryside, which was lovely. I am missing him very much, and plan to hide his passport when he comes home, just in case. And possibly all his trousers.

Fish

It's snowing again! Blimey. Drove home this afternoon from bestest mate's house through some amazing special effects wrath of God hail and rain, and now it's snowing.


Saw my lovely Mum a couple of times over the weekend, she seems to be making good progress and was in much improved spirits, which was great to see. The care she has been getting is (mostly) excellent, the less than excellent stuff has been duly reported and dealt with by the rest of the hospital staff.

Went out for dinner on Saturday night with bestest mate after calling in at the hospital and had a HUGE bowl of Pasta With Stuff at Prezzo's. Was very nice, but far too much, so had to leave quite a lot, which I hate doing. Which is why I have such a fat arse, of course.

Saw Middle Sis and Youngest Sis, and resepctive families, which was nice too. Everyone was feeling much happier, as things are improving so much. Youngest Sis's little dog was very entertaining too, frolicking about and being an idiot.

Mr WithaY is still away, having decided not to come home for the weekend, as it would be a ridiculously long round trip. I think he is home on Friday next week. No idea, though, what time. And given my track record, it might well be that he gets home on Saturday, or Thursday night, or a week on Wednesday. So I am feeling a bit lonely and sad.

He managed to ring me one night last week to tell me how it was all going. Apart from having to get into a river, which was "bloody freezing" and falling off a log, or down a hole, out of a tree or something, and bruising himself considerably, it's going terribly well, apparently. So that's good to know.

Had a bit of a hissy fit earler when I went to cook some supper and couldn't light the oven. Cursed and swore, then remembered Middle Sis telling me that her new cooker (v similar to mine) had the same problem until the clock on it was set correctly. Ahahahahahaaaaaaaaa. We had a power cut the other night, didn't we? And I hadn't set the oven clock since that happened. So, I pressed buttons on the cooker at random till the clock numbers changed, then managed to light it. Hurrah.

Half an hour later, hot fish galore. Mmmmmmmmm.

And, assuming we don't get a foot of snow overnight, up to London tomorrow for another week of big city frolicks.

No news

Ah, blessed relief. My back is no longer killing me, and I can move around relatively easily. I did a bit of walking yesterday, to and from the station to the office, ad back again in the evening, which I think is about 4 miles in total. I am that sure helped a lot.

The journey home from London was enlivened by two lovely long-haired golden retrievers (I think) on the train, sitting quietly in the end of the carriage, wagging their tails when anyone went near them.

I miss having a dog still. Even our mental scary one.

Off down to Sussex shortly to see how my lovely Mum is getting on, and then staying at Bestest Mate's house as we haven't seen each other for bloody ages.

And I am taking my guitar. Ha.

Hair still looks fab, by the way.

The Darkness

Gah! The lights all went off just now, plunging everything in sight into darkness.

They came back on again pretty sharpish, but it does not bode well. I see that the pub and petrol station are still on emergency backup*, though. Better get all the candles ready, and torches, and light the fire.

The weather forecast for tomorrow is more heavy snow, so I might have to work from home again. I am missing being in the office, tapping away at my laptop feels quite lonely after 3 days of it.

Got my lovely guitar teacher coming over in a few, so I need to go and get my beautiful Rickenbacker ready. It sounds amazing, and I love it to bits.

Even without an amp, if the bloody power goes off again.

*It's like on Star Trek where they go to life support only. Everything dims, and only the Lottery machine works. And the Shields.

Discoveries

This week I have mostly been learning about transport around London. I found out how to check how much credit is on my Oyster card*, how to get a seat on the Tube**, and how to get to the front of the queue on the escalator***.

It's been a week of making learning fun.

I stayed at Middle Sis's house on Monday night, which was nice, although I was so knackered that I went to bed before the children did. How sad and old am I, eh?

Due to my stupid initial "being flexible" approach, I have to go into the office on Wednesday (ie tomorrow), making it 3 days in a row in town. Gah. Still, I have now blanked out Wednesdays and Fridays on my calendar and told people I am not in London on those days. I will probably end up having a reputation as an awkward old bag, but hey, I'll get to do my 2 days a week working at home, which was one of the provisos of me taking the job in the first place.

Other news: Went to see my gorgeous guitar teacher's band at the weekend, which was entertaining. On Saturday I went with Bestest Mate to Shaftesbury where we wandered about admiring the surreal shop window displays.

My favourite was the one which had two mannequins with hilariously poor Beatles wigs and guitars, and a series of round flat black plates (I think) with home-made labels on them saying things like "Penny Lane", (had a penny taped to the label), "Love Me Do" (had a load of glittery hearts scattered around) and various others, all in slightly different fonts and layouts. It was like an episode of Father Ted.

Somebody wants to win a prize.

Also, my mate Andy was here this evening for a flying visit, and brought his guitar, so we had a bit of a jam together. Was marvellous. He is really good, and can sing so we did a few songs together that sounded really nice. Unfortunately I am still coughing too much to sing decently, but it was nice to see him and have a go.

Had a message on the answerphone from Mr WithaY in Mexico. He sounds well, and it was lovely to hear his voice. I am pining a bit, it has to be said. What a sap I am.

Right. It's after 10...I need to go to bed or I won't be able to leap out of bed at 0600 with a song in my heart and a smile on my lips. Gah.



*the internet, obviously
**Cough and glare like a madwoman
***shove and barge, and cough as if you are dying of TB

Started so I'll finish

So, first week in the new job is over.

Of the three days I went to London, I was trapped for ages at Waterloo by train delays and cancellations on two of them. This does not bode well.

I hope it was just an unfortunate glitch, having two out of the three home-bound trains so comprehensively messed up. If not, commuting is going to be a lot more trying than I had originally planned for.

I have slightly amended my plans as to which days I will be in London, too. I will do Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays in the office, and Wednesdays and Fridays at home.

I am giving it a couple of weeks before I start to insist on having my 2 days a week at home, as I think it's important to get as many first meetings in as possible, and if I am hard to reach it will not create a good impression.

Once I have a better handle on what I am doing, I will be able to say "Sorry, that is one of the days I work at home" if people try to set up meetings. Otherwise I'll end up going into the office every day, and that will kill me.

London though. Blimey. Busy, isn't it? And people are so pushy! And I need to re-adjust my thinking to "London rates" for the cost of things like a lunchtime sandwich.

I have an Oyster card! I am so proud.

I decided to walk up the escalator at Waterloo on my way home on Thursday, as I was anxious not to miss my train again. Foolishly, I committed to walking before I looked up at see how long the escalator was.

It was a looooong way up, and I was too embarrassed to then sheepishly step sideways into the line of "Are you kidding, we're not climbing all that way" people on the right. I thought I would die when I stepped off at the top.

Didn't though, so a bonus there. Was a bit red and wheezy while I stood reading the Delayed notice for my bloody train though.

Other news: Had my first guitar lesson last night for about 5 weeks and it was bloody excellent. It's incredible how much muscle strength I have lost in my hands just in that short time. I didn't have the heart to play much while I had bronchitis as I felt so crap, and couldn't sing at all. My voice is still sounding flaky. Hopefully another week or so will sort it.

I need to spend a lot of time practicing my barre chords and stretches, as I really struggled with the progression on "Back in Black", which I used to do reasonably easily.

Did anyone manage to get AC/DC tickets? I didn't. Gah.

Off to see my gorgeous guitar teacher's band tonight with my bestest mate, so am looking forward to that very much. Yay. Live music.

Travelling

Gosh, so much to tell.

First thing, Mr WithaY got off to Mexico safe and sound. But you know that because he's commented on the blog to tell me.

I can recommend the Sofitel hotel at Gatwick North. The room was more than adequate, the bed was large and comfy and the room service brought us pints of cider. Hurrah! We watched "Prince Caspian" on the in-house movie channel, and had a very pleasant evening.

The trip was enlivened by the lifts. The hotel is built with reception on the first floor, so when you walk in from the car park you have to go up a level. Once you check in they give you an electronic key card thingy so you can operate the main lifts to the bedroom floors and get into your room.

We checked in, were given the cards and headed off to the lifts, hauling all Mr WithaY's huge dive bags along with us. There were 2 lifts, both full of families with many huge bags, so we waited for them to get out and then send the lifts back down.

Lift number one went up and down several times, then finally came back to our floor, but another family with a ton of bags hopped in, so we waited for lift number two. It went to Floor 7, then Floor 4, then back to our floor. The doors opened and the same family were stood in there that we had watched get in several minutes earlier. We exchanged smiles in a "Tch, technology" way, and they vanished up to Floor 7 again. Then Floor 4, then back to us, and the doors opened and there they were again.

"Hello" we said to each other, still smiling. Off they went again. Level 7. Level 4. Back down to us. The doors opened. The little girl squealed with delight and jumped up and down when she saw us. The dad looked at us and muttered "Don't say a bloody word" as the doors closed.

We took the other lift, but not before I made some Americans laugh. They were waiting for the lift, and looking anxiously at the illuminated numbers as it went up.

"Does it come back down?" asked one?

"Oh yes, it goes both ways" I replied smart-arsedly. Heh.

Anyway, we had a very nice evening, and Mr WithaY was up in plenty of time for his 6am check-in. I drove home a little later and spent the rest of the day sorting stuff out for my scary new job.

Which I started on Monday.

It was ok, the journey is bloody long, and it takes me a whisker under 3 hours door to door, but it is do-able. Monday was fine. Tuesday, on the other hand...

I left the office at about 16:25 to get to Waterloo in time to catch the 16:50, which gets me home by about 7pm. I missed it literally by a minute, thanks to the dithering bastards on the Tube who were blocking doors and stairways, and then stopping dead the instant they got off the escalator. Fuckwits.

Not to worry, I thought. I can catch the next train at 17:20. But wait! What's this? The 17:20 to Exeter is CANCELLED.

Why? Fuck knows.

So. Me and about 300 other disgruntled West Country commuters mungoed about on the concourse, gawping hopefully up at the signs, as if that would magic the train up for us.

But then I spotted a crowd gathering on Platform 6. And, ahahahahaaaaaa, the helpful railway chap who I spoke to earlier had shown me the secret special timetable, which said that my train (the 17:50) would be coming to Platform 6. So, I joined the crowd and waited on Platform 6, hoping that was indeed where the train would show up.

Every now and again we caught the tail end of an announcement being made, one of which said our train was Delayed. Arse. The crowd was rapidly becoming a mob, but a British one, so there was a lot of harrumphing and sighing and rustling of newspapers, instead of pitchforks and broken windows and fire.

Eventually, 15 minutes late, the 17:50 rocked up and we stormed onto it, regardless of the poor rail staff trying to make us wait.

Two women had joined the crowd about 25 minutes after me, and were having a loud conversation about how funny it was to be so late. They were both of a certain age*, and were desperate for people to notice them. Desperate.

The fatter of the two started pushing her way to the front of the crowd, closer to the platform edge, making loud remarks about "I bet this is where the train doors will be when it gets here" while her quieter and thinner friend giggled stupidly.

The fat one then buttoned her cape-like coat up and stuck her chest out, making it look like she was heavily pregnant. "Now I'll get a seat" she smirked, making her witless companion laugh even harder.

I moved slightly so that she couldn't get any closer to the platform edge without shoving me, and the chap (about 6 foot 4, I reckon) I had been chatting to did the same, winking conspiratorially at me as he did so.

When the train arrived I took a great delight in standing on the witless one's feet as she tried to follow her fat unpleasant friend as she barged into the carriage in front of people who had been there a lot longer**. They were both very nasty and I hope they get boils. On their arses.

But apart from that, the job. Yes. Well, it is safe to say I am both a small fish in a big pond and a fish out of water. At the bottom of a steep learning curve. Without a paddle.

It will get better. Brrrrrr. Lawyers though. Brrrrrrrrr.

I am having to resist the urge to offer to draw schematic diagrams of the technical equipment procurement process, or explain how to steer a tank, just to try and contribute something.

And there are mice in the office. But apart from that, it's fine.

Other news: Went to see Father-in-Law WithaY in hospital this evening, which was good as he was a bit fed up. I left when the nurses were starting to get him ready for a session on the Walking Around Machine.

And I think the mole is definitely dead. Hurrah. Not that the bloody Mole-Away Techno-stick did any good. Money well spent there. Not.



*Probably slightly older than me, but not much.

**eg me

Tale of Woe

Today I am mostly in Bristol, sitting at someone else's desk, trying to get on with stuff while everyone around me wonders who I am.

Just like my own office, really.

I came in on the train, which was uneventful and pleasant. I hope that's a foretaste of my soon-to-be commute to London.

Mr WithaY is still seething after his trip to London last Friday. He went up to the Mexican Embassy (sadly not made of adobe, and no burros tethered outside) to sort out his visa for the forthcoming Shark Tagging Trip.

He ordered his train tickets on line, in advance, at a cost of (I think) about £9 each way, with reserved seats. Bargain. Because Tisbury station lacks an automated ticket machine, he had to go to Warminster to pick up his actual tickets. But no....both ticket machines at Warminster were out of order. He asked the nice man in the ticket office if he could get his tickets from there instead.

No.

The man in the ticket office, it transpires, can only hand over tickets in exchange for actual money. The bit of paper with evidence of the purchase transaction is not enough. And, just carrying that bit of paper on the train instead of a ticket will get you into enormous trouble, apparently. Fines, police, dragged off to jail, you name it.

Mr WithaY, being a man who lives life on the edge, decided to take that risk.

He travelled successfuly to Waterloo. The guard on the train stamped his bit of paper and said "When you get to London, pick up a ticket for the return trip. Just to be on the safe side."

The Mexican Embassy staff were helpful and courteous, but I was dismayed to learn that the Ambassador failed to bring out the Ferrero Rocher chocolates. Mr WithaY made his way back to Waterloo with a song in his heart and a receipt for his ticket in his pocket, with a good hour to spare before his train was due. Plenty of time to pick up a ticket from the ticket office.

A ticket he had already paid for, mark you.

20 minutes in the queue for the ticket office did not bode well. The ticket office people eventually told him "No, we can't give you a ticket, you have to go to the Travel Office, next door."

He went to the Travel Office next door and explained the situation to them. They sucked their teeth and made sad faces, and told him he had to go to the Information Desk, just over there.

He went to the Information Desk, just over there. The Information Desk people looked at each other in dismay told him to go to the Ticket Office.

Mr WithaY asked to speak to a manager.

The manager came out, listened to the story and said "Oh, you need to go to the Travel Office, come with me." As they walked back into the Travel Office, the staff exclaimed "We've already told him we can't give him a ticket!"

Mr WithaY, possibly channelling Mexicans, was pretty laid back, even though he now only had 20 minutes till his train was due, and still had no ticket.

Finally, the combined brains of the Waterloo station team suggested he go across London to Euston and pick up his ticket, yes, the one he's already paid for, from the automatic machine there.

It takes 20 minutes to get to Euston from Waterloo. And then 20 minutes to get back. So, at least 40 minutes, to get a ticket for a train that is due in 15. Not a great plan.

Mr WithaY said he was not going to take their advice, and would travel back with his bit of paper, which, if you recall, had already been stamped once by the train ticket collector on the way up there.

The Waterloo team flapped, telling him he would be in biiiig trouble, police, fines, prison, flogging, transported to Australia, etc etc etc.

Mr WithaY decided to ignore them and go and wait for his train.

However, being a law-abiding citizen, his conscience smote him and eventually went and bought a single ticket back, at a cost of £31. In addition to the £9 advance ticket he had already paid for, with a reserved seat and all.

He found his seat, and took up position, a ticket in one hand and his reserved receipt in the other. By now his Mexican laid-back-ness had worn away and he was just waiting to be challenged. I beleive he adopted a "Come on then, you fuckers" stance.

The ticket collector came, and Mr WithaY presented his receipt. "Will you accept this as my ticket?" he asked. The ticket collector looked at it, nodded and said "Yes, no problem sir." Mr WithaY then presented the additional £31 ticket and explained the situation.

The rest of the carriageful listened attentively, some of them joining in with cries of "Ooh, that's not right at all!" and "How outrageous!"

The ticket collector's advice: Send the extra ticket to South West Trains with a letter of explanation and demand a refund.

I'll let you know if we get one.

Rain II

It's still raining.

Been a hectic week again and it's only Wednesday. Monday was ridiculous. I left home at 0500, drove to work, met a colleague at 0600, drove to Southampton Airport, caught a flight to Belfast, had lunch, had a meeting, raced back to the airport and caught the 6pm flight home, arriving back chez WithaY at about 9.30pm.

Nightmare.

On the plus side, I met an old friend at Southampton Airport who was on the same flights out and back as we were, so that was fun. He was off to meet with BBC Northern Ireland to try and get them to take up a huuuuuge contract with his firm. Hope they did.

Was hoping to see Manuel on my travels, but no such luck.

Apparently we missed Martin McGuinness at Belfast Airport by about 5 minutes, though.

First time I flew to Edinburgh, the very first person I saw as I walked into the Arrivals Hall was Ewan McGregor. I thought he'd been sent there specially to greet me.

Right. Off to work. God I'm tired. Already.

Must be getting old.

Time

Well, another week is winging by. Although it was enlivened by me throwing up for 2 days earlier on. I am assuming it's stress related as Mr WithaY is fine and I have no other unpleasant manifestations of food poisoning/stomach bug*.

Also did my party trick of waking up screaming in the wee small hours. How Mr WithaY loves that. Nothing like having a large bird jumping out of bed in a not-quite-awake panic in the middle of the night to help you relax.

I went into the office yesterday still feeling as though I had butterflies the whole time, which was freaky. Still, managed a decent night's sleep last night and feel more like my old self** today.

I realised that in the last month I have put in about 6 days extra worth of hours, so I need to keep track of that properly. I am not able to claim for overtime but if I have some decent records of times and so on I can at least negotiate for some time off instead. And I'm away to Belfast (just for the day) next week so that will be another stupidly long day.

Ah, my jetset lifestyle.

Other news: Am practicing The Police's "Can't Stand Losing You" on my geeeeeetar. Not only is it a great song to sing but it's almost all barre chords so fab practice for a lazy slacker like me. The big gig draws closer. I need to ask my lovely guitar teacher when I can come over to a band practice. Will do that tonight, as I think he's coming over.

I have decided to invest in a solar powered iPod/mobile phone charger. Anyone have any advice as to which are any good?

Come the revolution, total breakdown of society, 3 day a week power cuts etc I think it will be handy not relying on the National Grid to be able to listen to Iron Butterfly at my desk and text my mates.


*You know what I mean, don't make me spell it out.

**Tall, dark and grouchy.

Abroad

Guess where I am? Not in Wiltshire, for a start.

No, I am in Malta, on the island of Gozo to be exact, in a v fantastic hotel. It is lovely. I may never come back. Especially as I can get internet access.

There are palm trees, the sun is shining, the food is delicious and the people are lovely. The place is incredible. Our room is bigger than the flat I lived in as a student. Seriously.

We had a looooong day travelling yesterday, well, from Thursday really, as we drove up to a hotel near Heathrow, and our flight was on Friday morning. But, all things considered, it was a very straightforward trip. Even the security at the airport wasn't too horrible. And all out luggage arrived here with us. Yay.

We flew to Malta, then got picked up by a taxi at the airport and driven at hair-raising speed across the island to the Gozo ferry, had a lovely sunshiny crossing to Gozo, then another taxi across this island to our hotel.

Maltese driving - it's an eye-opener alright.

Our driver overtook anything and everything, on blind bends, going up steep hills, on the wrong side of the road, on junctions....you name it, he did it. As did all the other drivers. Horns was deployed continually, nobody used their indicators once as far as I saw, and yet everyone managed to stay on the road and relatively undamaged.

I don't think we'll be hiring a car while we're here.

We have had the world's best breakfast* and are going to go and meet the dive people in a little while, as Mr WithaY has a few days diving booked. I am going to check out the spa at the hotel and see about getting a massage maybe, and a pedicure (I have this funky new nail varnish to try out). And then, to the pool, to watch the plam trees sway in the breeze and listen to Def Leppard on my iPod.

I am having a great time.




*They had everything. You could, if you wanted, have had poached eggs, waffles with chocolate sauce, porridge, cheese, dried banana and baked beans. Garnished with an iced doughnut.