Archive for the ‘tourism’ Tag

Porthcawl Tourism October 2018   1 comment

 

Porthcawl is very odd but this first bit is something I noticed elsewhere (all over England, Wales, and Scotland).  Why are the “sanitary’ disposal bags decorated with a southern belle drag queen?  Cue the earworm

 

 

I may have been high, but I was amused to find myself on Schindler’s Lifts:

 

 

Best thrift store book section in town has everything alphabetised save for a M through N demilitarised zone:

 

 

The Grade 2 listed public loos are under threat of closure.

 

 

This would be criminal for this piece of grand architecture but also an assault on the residents and visitors whose average age is about 117 years old.  They’ve got to go somewhere, and they probably have to go NOW.

 

 

The local history museum is housed in a Victorian jail house (so, part of the exhibit):

 

 

I was taken with the iron gutters and drain pipes still in good nick (in this good nick).

 

 

We had a grand view from our room.  Low tide:

 

 

And, high tide:

 

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Posted October 6, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Tourism

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The Sun Inn, Barnes, London   Leave a comment

 

Pub #2166:

As I mentioned before, it was a glorious day out Friday.  I decided to cut across a peninsula to make short work of the bike ride to Kew Gardens Station to catch the Tube back to our bleak suburb; just out of the London Wetlands park and across a quiet neighbourhood into Barnes-proper, I was dazzled by the Sun and, ten miles into the bike-tuning ride, decided to take a wee break for refreshment.

 

 

Quite lovely, here, with a large selection of drink.  Quiet, though, and I drank largely alone save for the last drops when a couple of other middle-aged fellows joined me.  I asked if the best way to the Tube was along the river then left at the Archives but one of them reminded me of the Piccadilly Line strike by RMT workers and suggested Hammersmith, instead (Hammersmith & City to Wood Lane and change to the Circle Line at the White City Station).  It sounded sensible and, since it got me home with an hour to spare for getting pretty before heading back out to the theatre, it appeared to be.

 

 

Posted September 30, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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MiniBar1 at BSF, Bermondsey, London   Leave a comment

 

Pub #2161:

We went to the Bermondsey Street Festival and spotted this Mini Cooper converted into a rolling keg cooler.  I bought a beer from its hipster owner and headed down the street.

The onslaught of yuppie-urban-settlers pushing a baby buggy with a child that should be walking but instead riding along with the same superior fucking look on their faces as on the other little, entitled monsters.

The crowd was incredibly thick and pushy considering how little of interest there was in the “festival.”  The throngs also included folks that brought their dogs to the festival…their fucking dogs (none of which seemed happy to be there but they are the childless gentrifier’s badge of belonging).

A third sort of pain in the ass — and the one that drove us away as soon as I finished the MiniBar1 beer — were the amateur drinkers.  These are the people sucking down mocha martinis or some other abomination.  They are all in festive mode and don’t even seem to like [or need] drinking to affect a vacant joviality; there would be real drink here if there were real drinkers (or more of us).

“Let’s fuck off over to a real pub,” I suggested and soon we were at Simon the Butcher, quite a real pub, indeed.

Posted September 16, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs, Tourism

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Smithfield Market 150th Anniversary   1 comment

 

Been sick a few days and Jackie has been off on holidays for a few, so we were both itching to escape the house despite the sudden cold-and-rainy snap.  The weather didn’t really suit the Notting Hill Carnival this time around, so we opted for the Smithfield Market 150th anniversary do.  The lion, above, is a detail on one of the ornate iron gates to the meat market (seen below).

 

 

I’ve been all around this joint, but neither of us has been inside and it didn’t disappoint.  However, we WERE disappointed to have missed the Sausage Dog Parade on Saturday (but I’m sure they’ll do it again for the 300th anniversary).

 

 

Butchery is the name of the game, here, but it isn’t a trading day.  One trader taunted us with a carcass and some fabulous, aged standing ribs:

 

 

Speaking of butchery, this is the site where William Wallace, having been dragged behind horses from the Tower of London roughly ½ mile away, was hung, drawn, and quartered 713 years ago this week.

“They can take our Sausage Dog Parade but they will never take our free…hang on…what are you doing with that gallows, y’ wee lad?”

 

 

With me recovering and J cold-natured, we stuck to the covered bits more so than the rest (although I met some lovely people into fermentation at one of the tents near the Wallace Memorial).  There were musical acts but the people-watching was the real show.

 

 

Of said musical acts, I enjoyed the Fish Police more than any of the others.  You should seek these guys out (although I  believe they have a very limited touring range):

 

 

This Bank Holiday Weekend I Have Been Mostly Listening To …   1 comment

  1.  The Beasts of Bourbon.  I didn’t know about these guys before Spencer P Jones slipped this mortal coil.  I’m not at all hip, but he was.  Instead, I was perusing the Death Pool to see just how badly I was doing against the other ghouls (currently #41 in my funeral home with the 44 points I got off Winnie Mandela), and he came up as one of the celebs I didn’t know, but should have.  When I saw the band name, I had to have a listen and it turned out to be quite moreish.  Brilliant stuff, including this cover of Psycho by Leon Payne (the Elvis Costello version is aces, too).

 

2. The Fish Police.  We went to the Smithfield Market 150th Anniversary Sunday and it was rainy and cold and full of children and absolutely dreadful save for the Fish.  We got home cold and wet and miserable and both of us had their tunes stuck in our heads.  Definitely the highlight of the day.

 

 

3.  Siddha yoga chanting.  I have this hour stripped to mp3 to go along with a wait for the sacrament to take.  You understand this or you don’t.  It doesn’t have to be Hindu, it could be the Rolling Stones or Louis Prima or Vivaldi.  But, it isn’t…THIS weekend.

 

4.  Richmond Fontaine‘s “Don’t Skip Out On Me.”  Willy Vlautin, singer/songwriter/ostensibly the leader of this band is rapidly becoming Jackie’s favourite author (and she reads voraciously).  She picked this up at HMV trying to keep her club card points up and it is an absolute delight (entirely acoustic, it is meant to accompany one of his novels called, strangely enough, Don’t Skip Out On Me — as an erstwhile soundtrack.  Good accompaniment to dinner, as well.

 

The Church of St Boniface (rebuilt 1070 AD), Bonchurch, Isle of Wight   1 comment

 

Continuing the Isle of Wight trip write ups, we did several sections of the Coastal Path, running into an 11th Century (when it was rebuilt) chapel as we crossed the hills through Bonchurch on the way between Shanklin and Ventnor.

 

 

There are original wall etchings…

…and grand (if modern replacements) timbers hoisting the roof tiles:

 

 

The cemetery is fine, but this unusual stone — sort of like a series of flames licking at the timbers nearby — was a highlight for us:

 

 

They have services presided over by lay clergy at 8pm every Sunday (and I reckon these are worth dropping in on, especially in winter when the lighting will be candles, not ambient) in addition to the modern church (built in the mid-19th Century).  Secluded, wooded, cliff-side…marvellous.

 

Posted August 19, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Tourism

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Freaky spider!   Leave a comment

 

Waiting in a bus shelter after a visit to the Roman Villa museum at Brading, I spotted this noble false widow spider sucking the juices out of a honey bee.  The circumference marking and the Star Trek insignia are silver-metallic and shiny.  I’ve never quite seen the like, before.  In England, it seems to be isolated to the southern coasts — an immigrant culture from the Canary Islands, most likely.  Venomous but the real danger is an allergic reaction to a bite (or, just nightmares).

 

Posted August 19, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Tourism

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