Saying a Temporary Goodbye

Tomorrow afternoon I'm away. I go by train to Surbiton, where I will be collected by my daughter for an overnight at her place before we fly to Venice. I'm so excited. It will be tinged with sadness, though. It's easy leaving hubby. He knows I'll be back on Tuesday.

It's not so easy leaving Jade, whose sad, pleading eyes will follow me through the train window as it leaves the station. No matter how hard I try to explain, she really won't know when she will see me again. Although I know I will get an ecstatic welcome when the time comes.

Anyway, farewell to this blog for a week, and then I can tell you all about my adventure.

No time to write more now. I have to go out to the bookshops to find the guidebook I'll be reading on the train.

Christmas Day in Poole

Our Christmas Day was rather quiet this year. Just hubby, Jade and me. We had managed to recover from the anticipatory Christmas celebration we'd had two days earlier with my son and girlfriend who were both taking off for other climes yesterday. I did the marathon three course meal for that, and on the big day we just had our prawn cocktails and a prestuffed turkey breast with lots of leftovers for Jade. We didn't even feel like finishing off the Xmas pudding started on Monday, or any of the mince pies sitting around.

But earlier, after a scrambled egg brunch, we piled into the car and headed for the beach at Sandbanks. A few people were around, not many, most with dogs. In these winter months dogs have the run of the whole long sweep of the beach, whereas in the summer we are limited to about half a mile at the far end near the ferry that crosses the harbour entrance to Studland.

Pic by Chris Downer

It was raining when we left the car in the car park, but miraculously, it stopped for the duration of our walk, about 15 minutes towards Bournemouth, and then back again. The picture I got from Wikimedia Commons is very much what it was like. 

Jade clearly loved it, and had been missing all those sandy beach walks we did last summer. She loves to chase stones I throw for her, and then she digs them into the sand and out again, if she can find them. It's not wise to stand behind her. Sometimes the stone comes flying out along with all the sand she's pushing up. Then she will have a job to find it. I always have to wipe the sand off her nose after a visit to the sandy beach.

We were actually among the lucky people here who were not badly affected by the Christmas weather. On the other side of Bournemouth, the River Stour flooded badly. I've been reading about it on the Huffington Post site. Many other areas have also been badly affected as I expect you have heard. 

Another bad storm is expected tonight. I'm hoping I will be able to get to my daughter's tomorrow and be in my seat for the Epsom Playhouse panto by start time at 3 pm. I have train tickets so will just have to hope the trains are running, and without too much delay. Even if I miss the panto, I'll still try to get there as we have yet to exchange Christmas presents.

Dreaming of America

I'd so love to spend some time in the US, travelling around. I'd love to see the Grand Canyon and visit my cousin in Memphis. She could take me to Gracelands, of course. That would have to be on my itinerary.  And there are plenty of other famous places and sights I'm dying to see over the pond.

But I'd also have to pre-book tickets for shows and events that I might never have another chance to see. If I could be in Tennessee at the right time, I could get some Rascal Flatts Tickets for Nashville and catch some country rock.

Peter Pan is one of my favurite pantomimes in the UK. It would be a great experience to use Peter Pan Tickets in Oklahoma on my way west.

Being a fan of the beautiful game at home (soccer for the uninitiated, but we just call it football), I'd like to watch some American football and see how it compares. I might then head for California with some San Diego Chargers Tickets.

Now I'd need to still be there, or return again, in November or December. Then I'd definitely be in the market for Trans-Siberian Orchestra Tickets at one of their tour locations.

Nevada would also be on the list as I'd have to see Las Vegas. If I was there at the right time, I could catch a show by one of my all time favourites with my Celine Dion Tickets.


Dream on, I tell myself.  I may well just have to settle for the memories of my single weekend visit to New York. But you never know.  My hubby insists on doing the lottery every week.  One day his number may come up.  I wonder if he'd treat me.

The Dream Holiday

Five days on, (I've spent this one defrosting and scrubbing the fridge and the freezer) our holiday in Minorca seems like a dream that I've woken up from.

The photo is of the beach at Cala 'n Porter, which we left behind on Monday when we returned home after our two weeks. Our hotel was in the centre of the resort on top of the cliffs, and there were steps down, about 190 of them. Coming up by road was nearly as bad as it got quite steep. A third option was one of the those road trains, if you were there at the right time. On the last day we waited half an hour and then decided to take the steps, only to see the train arrive below us as we were about half way up. There were some strategically placed seats on the way so we were able to catch our breath.

It was a pity the rep didn't tell us about the cost of the beach umbrellas and sunbeds costing €17. After paying this once, most people bought some mats and an umbrella to tote down there each time. But the beach was great. The lifeguards had a really easy time as the sea was so safe. We waded out a long way to swim with the fish in the clear water. And we watched other people snorkeling, diving, kayaking, playing with bats or just balls, lounging on rafts, putting their shopping into rubber dinghys to ferry it out to their yachts, swooping down the water slides on top of pedalloes. It was all happening. Looking after the tourists was the life of the locals.

We did see some of the rest of the island of Minorca as well, so I may tell more later.

Delightful Spanish Softies

After the holiday, it’s time to write about it. I need to think about what aspects to select and what to say about them. I’ll probably need to do more research as well. That part I’ll really enjoy, because I always love putting my own experience into a broader context than I found at the time. Usually it makes me want to go back.

At the moment I feel that, if I do make another visit, it’ll have to be at a different time of year. Menorca was having a heat wave.

“It’s not usually as hot as this,” one of the holiday reps told us. For us this meant we couldn’t walk as much as usual and it certainly curtailed some of the sightseeing. The Menorcans are aware of this. When we visited the site of an enormous fort and were heading back from its furthest point, walking along a trail with no shelter from the glaring sun, a minibus approached and stopped beside us.

“Are you ok walking?” asked its slim and attractive female driver. If I hadn’t been standing next to him, I’m convinced my hubby would have hopped in beside her with no hesitation.

Another surprise was meeting an animal loving Spaniard who brought his dog to the terrace bar of our hotel at around 7 pm every day. One day he came alone and we hoped the dog was ok.

“Oh yes. I left him because it’s so hot and he’s been playing in our pool all afternoon.” Carlos spoke near perfect English. Originally from mainland Spain, he had moved to England as a young man and lived in Ealing for 30 years before his English wife persuaded him to come and live in Menorca.

His dog was a black and grey spaniel with no tail. It was very friendly and adored children. When a small person came near, instead of having a wagging tail, it had a Renault Clio backside, if you know what I mean.

“We had an alsation here as well but not for long. At 18 months, he developed a tumour on the brain. I had to hold him and stroke him while they put the injection in.” Carlos was clearly still very upset about that. “They are like family, aren’t they?

“This one I wanted to get a haircut. Would have cost €35, but my wife said no. He goes on the top and second step of the pool to get cool but he won’t go any further. Must have had a bad experience at some time.

“We got him from the rescue centre. That place is so busy and so big. We’re always finding abandoned dogs and cats. It’s not the Spanish. They don’t go away and leave them. It’s the English who just come for six months and then go back home.”

So much for our reputation as the softest nation in the world when it comes to animals.