Caught red-handed

They say a week is long time in politics. This popular idiom has certainly rung true in recent weeks. Since May 8, in an extraordinary chain of events, expense claims for every Members of Parliament have been progressively published by the Daily Telegraph newspaper. Day after day, fresh headlines reveal yet another politician from every faction blatantly rorting the institution’s self-governing expense system.

I find it hardly surprising that all this is happening. When Garry and I arrived in the UK in 2005, the national ethos seemed to be one of unrestrained greed. This ugly tone was present everywhere, driven in part by the burgeoning finance sector. However, despite this broader context, the recent MP revelations are still astonishing. While a small minority has proven exemplary, most politicians, while making claims within the guidelines have clearly and ruthlessly violated their spirit for years. The conduct of a few members has simply been criminal, committing outright fraud.

Highlights have included:

• a claim for a duck house on the pond of one member’s rambling country estate,


• the cleaning of a moat on another’s member’s estate,


• porn films viewed by a spouse,


• a minister whose designated second home was changed three times in a single year. (MPs are allowed to claim expenses to cover the cost of running a second home, on the basis that they need to maintain a presence in their constituency as well as at Westminster. However, on this occasion, the minister’s second property was refurbished and later sold at a profit.)


• claims for a second home that was neither in London, nor the member’s constituency, and


• claims for interest payments on mortgages that had already been repaid in full.

Even the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the man responsible for the nation’s budget, has claimed for an accountant to help him complete his tax return. Apparently even he doesn't understand the nation’s tax policy. Furthermore, these revelations of greed are taking place against a backdrop of the nation’s worst recession for more than sixty years. Understandably, support for the Government has reached an unprecedented low, while calls for electoral reform have been increasingly popular.

Needless to say, each revelation has generated more and more anger. Commentators and politicians report a level of hostility in the community unknown for more than a generation. As the weeks pass, the political toll grows. The Speaker of the House was forced to resign, an unprecedented event for more than three hundred years. At least twenty MPs have announced plans to stand down at the next election, or have been barred from standing again by their party.

However, the last 48 hours have proved the most astonishing. Four cabinet ministers have announced their resignation from the front bench. Tonight tensions rose a notch as a fifth high-profile minister unexpectedly resigned and then made an open call for Prime Minister Gordon Brown to resign.

There's no doubt the last 18-months have been unique in modern UK history. Garry and I never imagined we’d find ourselves living through quite so many unprecedented events; economic and political; unseen for generations, if not centuries. It seems that more history is now on its way. Tonight commentators question the current Government's remaining lifespan. A General Election is coming fast.

Joseph, Rob and a large shoe

I raced back from Madrid on Friday evening in time for an evening at the theatre. Garry had secured some discounted tickets in the front row, centre stage, for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat in West End. I first saw this production in 1978 when it was staged by the Hamilton Operatic Society in New Zealand. The role of Joseph was played by the late Rob Guest.

The current West End production is the third such revival. The role of Joseph was originally chosen by a national vote as part of a reality TV show broadcast in June 2007. The winner, Lee Mead, when on complete a popular 12-month contract. Gareth Gates, a Pop Idol runner-up, is currently playing the lead. I’ve heard that Friday’s performance was his penultimate appearance as his six-month contract draws to a close.

So how did it stack 31 years later? Not bad. Gates was superb, as was Jenna Lee-James who played the show’s Narrator. However some of the songs were sung with less than perfect enunciation, thus losing much of the impact I recall them once having. It’s clear the cast has become a little complacent as small details falter. Despite these glitches, the show remains timeless. It’s hard to believe that Andrew Lloyd-Webber and Tim Rice sold the show’s copyright for a mere 50 guineas in 1969. The last time these right changed hands, they cost £1 million.

Next on our list of West End shows is London's first production of Priscilla; Queen of the Desert, a stage adaptation of the Australian arthouse comedy film took the world by storm in 1994. Currently, the Palace Theatre in Cambridge Circus is festooned by a giant silver stilletto shoe. It's a wonderfully simple, eye-catching promotion.

Sunshine!

After waiting two years, Summer has finally arrived. We’ve been enjoying glorious weather this weekend. As I write this blog at 7.30pm the sun is streaming in the window, still carrying plenty of warmth. We’ve enjoyed temperatures 24°C today right up until 6pm. Yesterday’s high peaked at 23°C. The Met Office is promising us another two days of sunshine and highs of 25°C. While still rather mild by Australian standards, it feels like a heatwave in the UK, following two years of cool, dreary weather.

The Met Office has yet to confirm predictions of a hot Summer this year. However, all signs already point to a season warmer than the last couple of years. The longest day is less than three weeks away. On June 21 the sun will rise at 4:42 a.m. and set at 9:20 p.m. However, the long days are already apparent, with tonight’s sun not setting until 9.07pm.

Garry and I have been putting the weather to good use. Yesterday we hired a DIY carpet cleaner from the local hardware depot and spend the evening shampooing every tuft in the house. The carpets are now sparkling clean and completely bone-dry within 24 hours. To complete our comprehensive Spring Clean, Garry mopped every wooden floor this morning and swept our front path. We then took a large load of general rubbish and household junk to the dump.

The carpet overhaul is another timely reminder we’ve been living in Swiss Cottage almost 3.5 years. Just long enough to accumulate plenty of junk and layers of dust grime in the corners. The house has never been cleaner. The same cannot be said for my parents house. They've started renovating. The glass conservatory has gone, the lawn dug up and the gardens razed. It sounds like chaos will ensue for the next few months.

It’s not been all work as the weather warms up. Last Monday evening we caught up with my Uncle Richard and Auntie Jan for dinner. We dined at Boathouse, located on the banks of the Regent’s Canal, in Little Venice. The restaurant has a long glass atrium stretching along the canal’s edge where windows are opened to the water during Summer. It’s the perfect venue for a leisurely meal and plenty of gossip. We sat by the canal soaking up the view, watching barges and families of geese glide by. Hooray. Summer is here.

Cornish tales

Garry and I are back from our seven day road tour of Devon and Cornwall. We've had an amazing time and seen some truly memorable sights. The image above is just a teaser. Stay tuned for posts on:

• Bristol


• The last Concorde


• A picnic in Devon


• The Eden Project (and some rather tall ships)


• The family pub


• Mousehole (don't pronounce it as it's spelt)


• Lands End (and other coastal adventures)


• An old tin mine

I'll endeavour to update these bullets with live links as rapidly as I can over the next few weeks.

UPDATE: May 26
I've completed all of the outstanding links on this post. Now you have the complete story of our road trip to the far corner of England. Enjoy!

Downtown is history

I’m just back from ten days on business in New York. I had a full agenda, which included working most of lastweekend. However I found a moment on Sunday afternoon to break out of my hotel room and wander the streets of Lower Manhattan. I almost felt like a local as I made my way past familiar sights; the distant Statue of Liberty, the battered sculpture rescued from the World Trade Centre plaza and the bronze bull near Wall Street.


I was also keen to stop by the World Trade Centre site as I’d heard that rebuilding was well underway. The site is a hive of construction. In its north-west corner the steel frame of Freedom Tower has already risen more than 30 metres above street level, while the toxic hulk of the Deutsche Bank building is almost completely demolished.


While in New York, I also flew upstate to visit our Rochester office for a day. I’d last been in this city in 1983 as a young exchange student. However, only the distinctive saucer silhouette of the First Federal Building’s former revolving restaurant triggered any memories. Staff tell me the restaurant has long since closed. It seems that, much like my video from the WTC observation deck, my memories are increasingly filled with history rather than present day reality.

The Eden Project

Our first full day in Cornwall saw us visiting The Eden Project near St Austell. This horticultural attraction is most aptly described as a combination of giant plastic dome greenhouses surrounded by agricultural and crop-oriented botanic gardens. Built in the base of a disused quarry, the site was opened to the public in May 2000 and rapidly became Cornwall’s most popular tourist attraction.


The site includes the world’s largest greenhouse which houses a range of tropical plants. Called the Rainforest Biome, it covers 1.5 hectres and rises more than 50-metres at its highest point. Inside you find a fascinating array of mature trees, swamps, waterfalls and other tropical environs. Next door is a smaller glasshouse, known as the Mediterranean Biome. This 35-metre high structure houses plants from the globe’s temperate and arid zones. Both biomes are reached by a winding path that takes you past all manner of crops from around the world including tea bushes and hemp.


Garry and I spent more than three hours touring The Eden Project. We saw many plants we’d never seen before and discovered the origin of several favourite spices. However, much of the novelty was lost on us as we’d already seen many of these plants in the gardens and glasshouses at Kew Gardens. One plant that did catch my eye was the Citron, which is considered the world’s oldest cultivated citrus fruit. It looks like a lemon, except its fruit are the size of watermelons!


Our next stop in Cornwall proved to be a real treat. As we prepared to leave St Austell behind, we made a brief detour to Charlestownon the coast. I’d seen photos of the old stone-walled harbour and had read that traditional tall ships sometimes dock here. Our jaws dropped as we drove up to the waterfront. As luck would have it, there were three splendid tall ships undergoing maintenance. We later heard a local comment that they’d never seen three ships docked at the same time. We stopped to enjoy a late lunch of piping hot Cornish Patties while soaking up this rare scene.

Tin, fish and chips

Tin mining has defined the history of Cornwall almost as much as fishing, smuggling and invading armies. The first evidence of mining in the area dates back to the height of the Bronze Age around 2050 BC. Originally the tin was found in alluvial deposits collected from local stream beds. However, as these sources were exhausted, miners began working the underground lodes that strife the local geology. The first such mines started production in the 16th Century, reaching their commercial peak in the 19th Century.


For almost a century the Cornish Tin Mining industry was one of the most productive tin mining areas in the world. At its height, more than 600 steam engines worked day and night to pump hundreds of mines dry. Water penetration was always a battle as many of the workings plunged to great depths or extended for several kilometres under the seabed. The decaying remains of abandoned pump houses, marked by distinctive brick chimneys, can be found scattered everywhere across the Cornish countryside.


While in Cornwall, Garry and I took time out to tour one of the lasting mines at Geevor. It closed in 1991, just months before the last Cornish mine closed nearby. In the intervening years the site has been transformed into a fascinating museum. We spent several hours wandering through the mine’s processing plants where ore-rich rocks were crushed, sifted, centrifuged and refined into sack of tin granules. We saw the powerful electric cable winders that lifted the miners and ore hundreds of metres below the surface, as well as taking a tour through one of the older, hand-cut mines dug into the rocky coast.


From Geevor we made our way to St Ives, heavily promoted as a picturesque seaside resort. We stopped here for a late lunch of fresh fish and chips, and a brief wander along the harbour front. Unfortunately the weather was against us and our outdoor plans were abandoned when rain began to fall. St Ives definitely had some pleasant scenic spots. Unfortunately we’d already seen other wonderfully preserved coastal villages like Mousehole. St Ives paled in comparison.

Lands End (and other coastal adventures)

There’s always something compelling about the most extreme point on map. Lands End is no different. Growing up I would always read of people making the journey from the most south-western point on the British mainland to the most northern point at John O’Groats. I was lucky enough to visit John O’Groats in 1990 while staying at Inverness. Having made it to one extremity, I was keen to complete the picture and visit Lands End. Garry and I finally made on the penultamate day of our Cornwall road trip.


We booked ourselves into the Lands End Hotel for the night. It sits on the edge of a high cliff looking directly out to sea where you can see the Longships, a series of jagged rocks topped by a large lighthouse, a mile offshore. The original lighthouse was built in 1795. However it wasn’t tall enough to be seen in the highest seas and so the current building replaced it in1873. This new lighthouse was then contiually manned until 1988 when an automated system was installed. We had a stunning view of the lighthouse and the Atlantic from our bedroom. Overnight we were able to watch the ocean waves grow noticably in height and witness a truly spectacular sunset.


While the coastal scenery was spectacular, sadly the same cannot be said for the clutter of tourist attractions surrounding the hotel. Why is it that every other nation - except the UK - is satisfied with a simple café and a carpark at such locations. As is the practice of the British, this wonderful coastal spot has been overtaken by tatty amusements.


For an all inclusive ticket we could tour a museum of props from the Dr Who television series or wander through shops filled with t-shirts. In fairness to the owners, it was clear they’d invested in a total make-over of the site so the building were neat and well maintained. Perhaps the most galling bit of commercialisation was the Lands End signpost. Unlike every other such location on earth, here you have to pay to have your picture taken.


From Lands End we made our way north again, stopping briefly at Pendennis Castle on the mouth of Faulmouth Harbour. Henry VIII built the first fortificatoin here in the 16th Century. The round stone Keep has been beautifully preserved, sitting alone in a vast field of vibrant green grass. It was also the stunning location for a wedding on the afternoon we arrived. I was fascinated to learn that Henry built a string of similar fortifications along the south coast after his broke from the Church of Rome. It seems that fear ran high of a invasion from France or Spain designed to restore the authority of the Pope and the Catholic Church.


Its role as a defensive fortification continued up until the Second World War. During the war the castle was the Command Centre for Cornwall, protecting not only the Cornish coast and the natural deepwater port of Falmouth but all western approaches to Britain. We took a guided tour through the Battery Observation Post, built in the 19th Century to defend the nation during the Napoleonic Wars in mainland Europe. Its defenses were later modernized during the Second World War. Two large, decommissioned, artillery guns remain on site today.


Our final stop in Cornwall was Newquay. I’d heard of fame as one of the few surf beaches in Britain. However Newquay itself was a huge disappointment. The town is built on the edge of a series of narrow bays surrounded by towering cliffs. Its amenities were tatty and the streets were all but deserted except for dozens of larger louts making their way to seedy bars. In hindsight I wished we’d gone on to Padstow. Everything I’ve heard about this town seems in stark contrast to Newquay.


Our Newquay experience was saved by our hotel. We booked ourselves into the Headland Hotel at Fistal Bay. This is a grand old Victorian complex that’s been carefully restored. It sits alone on a vast sandy beach reserve looking out to sea. The seas were stormy the evening we arrived making for some spectacular scenes as foaming waves dashed themselves on the rocks below. I took a brisk walk out to a nearby headland to experience some of this coastal drama up close. I’m glad I did as the sea was far calmer the following morning and much of the drama has gone.

A picnic in Devon

Our route from Bristol to Cornwall was simple; we’d take a lesuirely drive down the M5 motorway, then turn off the main road south of Exeter where we'd spend an afternoon exploring the country lanes of Devon. However, the morning of our departure dawned rather bleak. It looked as if our plans for a sunny picnic were cancelled.

As we drove south, the weather slowly began to clear. By the time we’d reached the outskirts of Torquay, the clouds had broken and the sun was shining. We were set for a wonderful day. I’d planned a route that took us off the A381, tracing the lower reaches of the Dart river, stopping at Dittisham for lunch and then on into Dartmouth itself.


Garry’s jaw dropped when I finally directed him off the broad, gently curving A-road and on to a narrow, slightly rutted lane. The route I’d chosen was far more exotic than either of us expected. We found ourselves literally weaving down quiet country lanes lined with towering hedges and raised banks, barely a car-width wide. I later learnt that most of the side roads in the area are like this. Our chosen route was the norm.


As we drove, we passed mile after mile of colourful wild flowers on display; red, blue, yellow and white. Occassionally the hedge would part, exposing a stunning vista of rolling paddocks or the meandering Dart river. Each village we ventured into was a postcard delight. Old stone buildings set at random along an equally narrow street. At times, the road would suddenly make a sharp turn at a stone wall, or shop-corner before carrying on through the town.


We eventually reached Dittisham on the upper reaches of Dartmouth harbour. Our friend, Martin, had recommended this spot. We weren’t disappointed. We soon found ourselves on the edge of a grassy reserve bordering the river where only one other couple could be seen. We stopped for a picnic, watching ducks wander the shore and boats traverse the rising tide. It really was an idilic spot.


Dartmouth was our next stop. Dartmouth Castle to be precise. For over six hundred years this stone fortification has guarded the narrow entrance to the Dart Estuary. We stopped briefly for a few photos before taking the coastal road along Slapton Sands beach. It was here that American and British troops once rehearsed beach landings for the D-Day invasion of northern France. This is also where a rather poignant memorial can be found.


On the outskirts of Torcross village rests a black Sherman tank. It was salvaged from the shallow waters nearby. The tank was on board a convey of ships participating in Operation Tiger in the early hours of April 28, 1944. German torpedo boats, alerted by heavy radio traffic, turned on this coast fleet and sunk two landing ships, killing 749 American troops. More Americans died in this event than during the actual landing at Juno beach a few months later. The scars of war can be found everywhere in the South of England.


Our final hour on the road was spent driving to Plymouth, passing by Brunel’s famous Royal Albert rail bridge over the Tamar river, and on into St Austell, Cornwall. We stopped here for the night at Boscundle Manor, a wonderfully maintained stone manor that once housed the local mine supervisor. The owner kindly gave us an upgrade and as a result, we found ourselves booked into a spacious three room suite tucked smartly under the rafters. The restaurant downstairs later served us one of the most memorable meals crafted from a menu of fresh local produce. It was the fitting start to our time in Cornwall.

Mousehole

The tiny fishing village of Mousehole (pronounced "mao-zil") was a truly unexpected delight. Located a few short miles along the coast from bustling Penzance, this sleepy corner of Cornwall has carefully preserved much of its original character. Most of its homes are built from local granite, nestled in a series of narrow, twisting cobblestone lanes that hug the rocky seafront.


In the centre of the town sits a sheltered harbor, protected from the sea by two towering sea walls. Historical records reference a port here as early as 1266. Even today part of the south quay can trace its origin to 1390. In the early years of Christianity in Britian it was the embarkation point for pilgrims heading to Rome. As you’d expect, fishing was Mousehole’s primary industry for centuries. A small fishing fleet still operates today. However, given its picturesque setting, its modern economy thrives more on second home ownership and tourism.


During the winter months, sturdy wooden beams close off the harbour entrance, protecting the village from the worst of the winter storms. However, this is no ordinary port. On the afternoon of our arrival we discovered, much to our surprise, that low tide eventually drains the entire harbour leaving boats stranded on its sandy bottom. Some boats even have special stilts, extended from slots in the hull, to keep them upright until the water returns.


Garry and I stopped for a night, sleeping in an old building that once housed the area’s coastguard quarters. We spent a soul-restoring afternoon wandering Mousehole’s quiet cobbled streets before downing local ale at an old stone pub on the harbourfront. Later I wandered out to the end of the seawall where St Clement's Isle - a small rocky islet – is visible. I've read that an old hermit once made this desolate place his home.


Earlier in day we’d driven south from St Austell, stopping briefly on the shores of Marizon to marvel at St Micheal’s Mount. This iconic island rises gracefully from Penzance Bay, capped by an abbey and castle on it summit. It was originally built as a complimentary site to the tidal island of Le Mont-Saint-Michel, directly across the English Channel in Normandy.


Much like its French counterpart, St Michael’s Mount has been an important pilgrimage destination throughout the ages. Such devotions were encouraged by an indulgence granted by Pope Gregory in the 11th century. From here the first warning beacons were lit in 1588, warning Southern England of the approaching Spanish Armada.


The island is accessible by foot along an old causeway at low tide, or by boat when the tide peaks. I timed our arrival to coincide with high tide. I’d seen images of the island surrounded by water and was keen to capture my own postcard moment. Sadly, the weather was rather bleak, with a bitter wind and heavy cloud. However, as you can see, the island is still mesmerizing.