The gift shop is at the end...

The plan: visit the Vatican with a view to seeing the Basilica and the Museum. Simple, elegant, what could possibly go wrong?

Well, first off was the "helpful" beggars at Termini, I really don't need help. Or appreciate it being forced upon me. And then having a begging cup thrust in my general direction for a few coins.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

Honestly. So I somehow managed to negotiate the machine and bought two shiny tickets so we could head off to Ottaviano en route to the Vatican. Still going well.

Until we reached the touts. These reminded me very much of the punt touts in Cambridge, or as we called them the punt c*****. Except that this lot made the Cambridge boys and girls look lax on the harassment front.

Really.

So cue conversation:

Tout: Are you going to the Basilica?
Me: We are...
Tout: Oh everyone makes that mistake, goes there first and I can see the queue from here, at least three hours. You'd be much better going to the museum first on a tour and get in more quickly...

I should have pointed out that he made a fatal error. I can smell his bullshit.

Me:  Really *arched eybrow*
Tout: Oh it'll be much better...

At which point I cut him off and asked the elder offspring if he wanted to do a tour and then go to the Basilica, it is, after all, his trip. Bless him, he was as irritated as I was so we said no, argued for a bit and then marched off.

And then met another one.

This one went in to more detail. The museum tickets were €20 and he could book them online for us now to save us time. Or better still, have a tour for €35 each! And the guide speaks english as well as him!

Bless him.

We declined. He went on. I simply explained that if we found it all to horrid we'd come and see him.

When pigs fly, obvs.

On we went. It's true there was a huge queue but as it turned out we were happy just to see the outside, observe the queue and then do a little independant exploring.

Which was how we ended up taking a pleasant walk down to the Castel Sant'Angelo. Which was fabulous. And as the elder is under 18 and an EU citizen we only had to pay for me. Well worth €7 I thought. Really, we were there for hours, saw amazing views, enjoyed a drink on the terrace and avoided big crowds. This was more like it.

Eventually we wandered back to the museum, via a cafe, and found...

It was €16 and...
There were no queues.

The only issue was the tour groups marching and blocking the way. I felt sorry for them, they couldn't linger, it was all at someone elses pace. I did get a feeling for how horrible things could be when we ended up in the Sistine Chapel. Don't get me wrong, it was impressive, but I was more impressed with the breadth and depth of material elsewhere in the building.

I was also surprised at the range of things on show, including items from ancient Egypt. This really fascinated me, just what was the Vatican's interest in this?

And then there was the gift shops. Or should that be gift stops. They are everywhere, it seems every 40 yards or so. I did suggest to the elder offspring that maybe it was so they could catch you in the mood and before you were exhausted at the end. Or perhaps, like the endless beggars, touts and purveyors of tat they hope to catch you at a moment of weakness after wearing you down.

Or am I just a cynical old harpy?

When in Rome...

Arriving at a place in the dark and late at night is never going to give the best first impression. Especially when you're staying in a hotel near the Stazione di Roma Termini, a place that a cursory glance at the guide books suggested is best avoided at night.

Oh.

It was all a bit familiar. Not that I tend to hang around dodgy railway stations at night. The garish lights. The dodgy hotel touts. The even dodgier kebab places.

And a McDonald's.

No. Sorry, make that two. One in the station, one on Via Giovanni Giolitti. Outside of the station. Opposite the entrance. I fear Rome has changed since my last visit.

Not to worry.

With our best colonial pluck we marched in to the night for the short walk to the hotel, only being accosted once by said dodgy hotel tout. Further contact being avoided by my steely glare.

As we walked and took in the typically neglected buildings the elder offspring commented that it looks just like it does in Assassin's Creed.

I'm not really sure that's a good thing.

Anyway, hotel was found and it seems perfectly adequate. Even if the rooms are ORANGE, yes, ORANGE. As in you've been Tangoed ORANGE. I didn't bring my sunglasses, I know, schoolgirl error, but fortunately I have Neurofen if it all gets too much.

As an army matches on its stomach, or at least teenagers do, next stop was the restaurant opposite the hotel on the ground that it was... opposite the hotel. It was disturbingly empty but then I imagine any around there would have been at nearly 11pm. Food was okay which is infinitely better than bad.

And so today I sit writing this as I finish my breakfast. Rather annoyingly the elder offspring decided against food and went back to the room. So yet again I'm the only person alone in a room full of couples. I think this means I won't be making any trips alone. Being alone sucks when it's the status quo.

Anyway, next stop the Vatican. The perfect place for a confirmed atheist to spend a Saturday.

One final thought... A good friend of mine suggested last night:

"When in Rome... do a Roman"

I can assure you dear reader, it's not going to happen ;-)

Ciao.

Violas, trumpets?

What wonderful weather we had this weekend! When it's over 20 degrees, you're in shorts and tee-shirt, it seems odd to be buying autumnal squash but they were so pretty. Also I noticed that the House of Lidl had a selection of heathers and bulbs in stock. Bulbs? Already? I hadn't realised that they had to be planted in late summer. Oh. Rookie gardener...

I had already clocked whilst sitting on the balcony admiring the group of swans, two adults and three large grey cygnets, that my tubs of greenery were looking rather worse for wear. Not really weather related but they have been there since the spring and they needed some refreshing.

When I say refreshing, I mean a wholesale grubbing up and replanting. Today we went down to the local plant emporium to see what was on special. I'd had a conversation about 'Eric Aceous' compost with  my mum before setting out - apparently Heather is only interested in this acerbic young man. Still, as it happens, I was distracted by the smiling faces of the little purple violas and the trumpeting miniature narcissi.

Violas, trumpets? I hope the neighbours at the illegal shisha bar opposite won't be complaining about the strains of classical music piping across the Cut.

I made a vast selection of bulbs, violas and some little variegated shrubs. Planting the small shiny silver and bronze bulbs was like burying treasure. I like to know these dry plants will be hiding for the rest of the year, only to pop out excitedly in the spring. And we all need a dash of colour in the darkest days. In the meantime, whilst they sit snuggly in the earth, the friendly purple of the violas will entertain us. They have now been transplanted to their new homes and all of the tubs have been filled.

There was a moment of ditz when I changed my mind about putting violas in round plant pots, so removed them, tipped out the compost and out fell some narcissi bulbs. I hope that I dug them all out of the bag, otherwise, I'll be having a colourful surprise when I next go in the compost.

I also refreshed the rosemary with extra compost. There had been a rookie gardener error earlier in the year when I crowded the herb with geranium so they have suffered in the flowers exuberance. So I shall see how they perk up. I've added a few viola around the base of the rosemary so the tubs don't look so thread bare. There may be the odd random bulb to come up in those tubs too.

So pics to follow and roll on spring!

Fireworks of taste and festivals of heat

There is something about autumn which appeals to all senses. Like taking off sunglasses when entering the shade or removing earplugs in the morning, whatever has overcome your natural sight, hearing or whatever, Autumn is a rediscovery of intensity. The afternoon sun seems to saturate even the city trees and the morning damp grass smell permeates your layers; even though everything is dying, there is a vibrant melancholy. This sustains us as we move towards November and semi-permanent darkness.

So to have the London Chilli Festival in this amber, umber and burnt sienna world is perfect. Its location at Spitalfields City farm enhances the harvest festival feel and allows a welcome breath of wholesome air. This was before the smoky roasting, grilling and frying of various meats enveloped the occasion. This was the first of what will hopefully be a regular festival occurrence and the vendors at the various stalls were keen to educate, showcase and of course, sell their goods.

As you'd expect, most stalls were selling chilli based comestibles like sauces, dipping oils and dressings. Some had added frighteningly hot new varieties to piccachillis, jams and other condiments. My favourite stalls were the 'raw ingredient' ones, with the boggling range of dried chillies on offer from Capsicana Chilli Co making me salivate as I bought a selection. Pepper and Stew offered spice mixes to create African dishes at home. Other stalls were selling seeds and plants but my urge to garden has been replaced by the need to create some warming soups! 

Which is what I did this evening. Taking a Mexican pumpkin soup as my inspiration I adapted it to the ingredients available at home.

In a bowl, pour some hot water over a couple each of chipotle mora and Ancho Poblano and steep for 10-15 mins. At this point I couldn't resist inhaling the smoky, sweet fragrance from the two. 

Chop a large onion, several large courgettes, a red pepper and fry, allowing to singe slightly whilst stirring occasionally so they really soften. Letting them roast in the oven would have worked. Once the dried chillies are soft, chop roughly and blend to a thick paste with some of the liquid. Add a tin of tomatoes, the paste (don't drop some on your foot like I did) and the rest of the soaking liquid. Add seasoning, with a generous sprinkling of ground ginger, cumin, cinnamon and allspice - I added a sprinkle of celery salt which is very savoury. Stir well and add a little chicken/bacon/vege stock to loosen. 

Bring to the boil and reduce the heat so it simmers healthily for about 10-15 mins. Once the veg is soft, remove from the hob and blend. At this point my soup resembled a meaty sauce, thick and satisfying, so you could thin if you want something more polite. Personally, I would have also added some kidney beans if I'd had any... I ladled into bowls, drizzled with Dave's chilli oil, and sprinkled with strong cheese. It would have looked amazing with some chopped, fresh, green coriander leaf.

The soup's fragrance was that heady mix of bonfire night, cough pastilles, gingerbread and cinnamon hot chocolate. A soup to set off fireworks of taste and make one glad that the nights are finally drawing in. 

Magic in four colours.

Art is a funny old thing. Not just the actual art, but the art scene. Lots of beautiful people (and me) wandering in to tedious white rooms, be proffered wine and then largely ignoring the thing that they are meant to be there for. Well, except for me. The thing is I lost faith, the first night scene was feeling more like a chuffing cocktail party than a chance to have an early glimpse at some art.

Good for people watching though.

Anyway, as I say, I lost faith and stopped attending openings as, frankly, they were usually full of people who think Damien Hirst is actually a good thing. Idiots. Fast forward some time. Lots of time. Well, maybe not that much but I am dealing with the single biggest upheaval of my life at the same time.

Some months back I gained a new follower on twitter by the name of Matt Forster. From time to time he'd tweet images of watercolours he'd been working on and I liked what I saw, they had a certain something, a simplicity with depth.

Anyway.

Time passed a bit more and I saw that he had an exhibition about to start a little way from my office. Well that had to be a good thing. I at least knew I liked what I'd seen so far and was curious to see how it would measure up in reality. This was helped by the fact that the exhibition wasn't going to be in a white cube, but a coffee shop. In SW1. Crikey.

It was going to be a memorable evening. And not completely in a good way.

My plus one would be my bezzie, oddly this is only the second time I've dragged her kicking and screaming to an evening of art. And last time it was erotica. A bit different.

We started the evening in the Tom Cribb on Panton Street so we could cover the important business of the evening, namely love interests, in my case non-existent, obvs. And maybe have a little wine. Before we had more wine. Look, it never does to turn up on time and I never do!

Time passed...

...And then we wobbled off to Charles II Street to the Borough Barista which was to be the host for the evening reception and ensuing month long showing.

The interesting thing about this place was it seems to be downstairs so as you walk down said stairs you actually get a quick chance to view all of the art at once. Which I liked. I also like what I saw, especially one piece lurking in the corner, but more of that later.

As expected the beautiful people were out in force, which is quite tedious, but, unexpectedly, we were warmly greeted by Simon de Pinna of the Town and Country Gallery. Now this was nice, genuinely and does mean you know who to collar if you see something you like. Smart.

Artist holds head shocker...

So, there was just enough time for Simon to introduce us to the artist and have a very quick, yet detailed, chat about what we were here to see before it was abruptly halted for the inevitable speeches. Yep, we were that late. What I hadn't realised was this was the first proper exhibition that Simon and the T&C had put on, he went on to explain that he wanted somewhere different, a place that would make people feel comfortable.

It worked.

I was getting a little tetchy though. As Matt was explaining his technique and what it was that made his paintings so special the beautiful people were busy fannying about with their iBastards and not showing due interest.

Honestly people, you were being fed and wined. *whines*

After I may have said something quite rude about said beautiful people. We talked a bit more with Matt and worked our way along the wall of images until we reached the corner and the picture that had caught my eye on the way in.

It didn't have an orange dot.

Deep breaths

I made my excuses and went to look for Simon with the classic opening line, we need to talk. And we did.

The Lake Side was mine. *cackles*

Actual sheepish

After a short time secluded in the back room with nothing more than the gentle hum of a card machine to serenade me, we returned with the magic orange dot and marked the frame. Oh yes. The best thing was getting a brush by brush description of how Matt had carefully built up the image with just four colours and the order that he did it in. Utterly fascinating stuff, this is truly approaching magic in what is achieved. Needless to say the snippet of image above doesn't do it justice. Not even a little bit.

The funny thing is I know the technique well, it's an approach we took in the 90s to give new effects in videogames, though I strongly suspect this was far more painstaking and will be around long after some dodgy games are thankfully forgotten. I hope.

The pictures really do have a magical character and, which is a delight, the more you look at them the more you notice fabulous little nuances.

I'm starting to sound like an insane art luvvy. I'll stop.

Northerners. Pub. Naturally.

As the evening drew to a close we skipped back to the Tom Cribb for more of teh winez eventually being joined by the artist as we'd mentioned we were going there afterwards. What followed can't really be recalled with clarity as, well, you can guess, but did involved talking about life, art and avoiding tourists. As you do. It was the fab end to the evening that anyone would want, just such a shame it all went horribly wrong a little later when some thieving toerag decided that my bag looked fetching. But that's another story.

So, here I am, nearly two weeks later. A delightful latte in front of me, cool music playing in the background and a selection of business types holding meetings.

And my picture.

It's still glowering in the corner, the shadows giving a depth and intensity missing from the others. And you know what? Even given the trials and tribulations I suffered later that evening, I'm still overjoyed that I managed to secure such a lovely piece of art.

As for the Borough Barista, I can definitely say I like it, nicely quiet, easy on the eye staff who look like they give a monkeys and not too far from the office. I will definitely be back again soon.

The Matt Forster exhibition is showing at the Borough Barista until the 7th of October 2013, do go if you can. The coffee is pretty good too.

And don't forget to say hello to my picture!

Gardening part 8

The garden has taken a back seat recently due to sunny foreign festivities, therefore this is just a quick update on the progress of the contrary greenery in the sky. There was a small issue with a weekend without watering but I've been doubly nice to the plants since I got back, going up there with food and water.

Some beans today

When I say I've been 'nice', I've actually plucked, uprooted, boiled, picked and steamed the fruits of my labour. I can report the 3 smallish beetroot were extremely tasty - the beets themselves went into today's salad and the leaves accompanied our dinner last night. The mushrooms also had a few home grown radishes in the stuffing which added a hot crunch. 

The peas I continue to think of as my favourites and the best thing I've grown. They are filling out in a very satisfying way; in a couple of weeks I will be podding excitedly and they may even make up a portion of side veggies. The yellow beans have finally flourished and I've picked the first crop this evening - I honestly didn't think they would produce anything because the plants were so tiny, quite amazing really.

There are potential issues with the sprouts which had a load of white bugs on them. Perhaps they were holding a welcome party for my return? In any case, I toasted them with some seriously poisonous spray...and I hope the leaves uncrinkle. The cauliflowers have still not caulied, nor has the purple broccoli sprouted but who knows, they may surprise me.

All tidy and vacuumed

In other lettuce news, out of the 30 or so transplanted, I have 4 proper ones becoming proper ones! Still, lettuce is for decoration right? The other leaves seem good value for money and have grown again and again. The chilli and pepper plants were happy to see me and perked up with some watering - they seem to be flowering and have plenty of foliage. Whether they will have enough time to produce vegetables during August, I have no idea.

I was fed up with the flowers looking tired and dropping petals over the decking so I attacked the plants with scissors which has allowed the begonias some space and light in their busy trough. I got rid of a few geraniums giving the rosemary breathing room. So the balcony looks fresh, clean and bright again - I've also been investigating autumn colours for later in the year. So I'm being far too organised!!

What we have learnt

Travelling is all about learning so I asked my travelling companion what he'd learnt on holiday. This is what we came up with:

1. Standing up on a kayak capsizes it

  a. T-shirts don't float

2. Naturism should only be attempted in warm countries. We will not be doing *that* on the Isle of Sheppey

3. Cycling across rivers has to be done at speed (and done by girls with sexy legs apparently)

4. When on foreign trips, don't get distracted by buns of the sweet variety

5. A cemetery is called a hareem in Bosnia - the 'protected'. Is this true?!

6. Check your snorkels BEFORE you go on holiday for leaks

7. Avoid restaurants on a Friday if you dislike seafood *snork*

8. Massages should only be done by hot men in an idyllic location

9. Fishes are curious and come to investigate where ever possible

10. Swimming in clothes feels a bit wet

11. When they say jumbo pizza, they mean it

12. British and German stereotypes are true

13. Though rude French people get called f***ers by travel agents  

14. Orange pivo is pretty damn fine

15. I can cycle and kayak further than I thought

16. A better understanding of the Yugoslavia wars in the 90s

17. Being 40 isn't that bad 

18. Croatia is, once again, a perfect place to holiday