I'm Only Saying

I'm trying to ignore the Labour Party leadership campaign - it feels like intruding on private grief. However I have to say that I have been looking at pictures of Andy Burnham and he has gone up in my estimation because it does appear that he is being unnecessarily modest about his pre-political life as the pilot of Thunderbird 1.

Andy Burnham

Scott Tracy

Circadian Dysrhythmia

Or jet lag to you and me. It has hit me harder than after previous trips. Another sign of age? Oh well, bugger it, I feel on more solid ground today if not totally wound tight for intellectual action.

Having been lame with my calf injury for the past four weeks and having eaten a grandiose super-sufficiency on holiday I went out for  a run yesterday with not inconsiderable trepidation. I did a steady three miles and felt no ill effects. I was stiff of muscle when I woke today but decided I was well enough to venture forth once more. Wrong. The calf twinged (no more) in the third mile and, defying past macho practice, I stopped immediately and sloped back home to ice the muscle - few things are more embarrassing than being the middle-aged man walking in lycra. I am controlling my habitual pissed-off pessimism - for now - but if the problem persists I reserve the right to moon around swathed in self-pity.

I got back to this country just in time to see our cricketers revert to type and get well and truly marmalised by the Australians. Resistance was there none. For the good of English cricket I may have to decamp once more. Would a few days in Anglesey be enough do you think? I'll do anything for the good of the country.

Final reflections on the West Coast interlude. Bloody good. Favourite bit? The Oregon Coast. Best beer - Flat Tail Brewing's Tailgater Kolsch (admit it you didn't expect me to nominate a lager - neither did I but it fitted its moment perfectly). Best city - Vancouver. Best food - Paley's in Portland, by a country mile. Best Shakespeare play - still Antony and Cleopatra. 

I bought some necessary supplies in Sainbury's on Monday and the young man on the till hoped I would 'have a nice day'. I was tempted to favour Peter Ustinov's recommended response, 'thank you but I have other plans', but bit my tongue and reflected that good service works both ways - both server and served need to conspire in the transaction. In America I was a willing conspirator. I shall endeavour to be so on home soil.

Have a good day now.

Back In Blighty

I am not a good traveller. I fret that something is going to go wrong. So when we approached Vancouver in the small hours of Saturday morning I convinced myself there would be no taxis to get us to the Airport Fairmont. Wrong. Next I fretted that we wouldn't get the desired seats on the plane. Well I was partly right on that score but the Groupie did some skilful negotiation and we were placed alongside each other. And then in a piece of great good fortune the seat on my other side was not taken and I luxuriated in a double space for the width of the Atlantic.

Thus had we made it to London in good shape. All that was left was the train back to Brum. On which I now sit, part of a seething mass of sweaty humanity, trying to ignore the pissed-up Scotsman behind me who has with him two bottles of Coke and a full bottle of scotch which he plainly intends to empty before the ultimate destination of Glasgow. It's good to be back.

Poem

Dragonfly

the dragonfly steals a
view and blurred enhances
coy fine flirting with a
purpose kissing water

a nature

and climbing clarion
clattering the human
dragonfly spies for fire
purpose pilfered water

invention

Train Delay

We're on the way from Portland to Vancouver - slowly as it happens. We are three and a half hours in and already two behind schedule. But at least the internet thingy is working so I can bore the world in the accustomed manner.

Not in the Michelin Guide

It occurs to me that I omitted to mention the epicurean inconsistency in yesterday's eating. As I last blogged, we ate in the evening at the outstanding Paley's Place. Which was nice. At lunchtime we had nachos, fries and a beer (well the Groupie had wine) at the salubrious Buffalo Wild Wings sports bar franchise in downtown Portland. Which was also nice - and that, I think, is my point.

I've just watched the first episode of Phoenix Nights. Peter Kay, genius.

Goodbye To All That

Sitting in reception at the Inn at Northrup Station having checked out of our last US hotel room. All that is left now is train to Vancouver, one night there and the plane home tomorrow.

It has been nothing short of fabulous and we treated ourselves to a highfalutin finish last night at the highly recommended Paley's Place. This was food and wine out of the top drawer. Mildly pretentious? Possibly but sometimes that can be nice. I wore long trousers for the first and only time on this holiday. Details at Posh Nosh Portland .

Portland grew on me. I strongly suspect it is a great place to live because food, wine, beer, coffee are abundant in independent splendour. Possibly not a great choice for a lengthy holiday stay unless of course you want to do the said food, wine, beer, coffee to death. Incidentally, Portland is the site of the first ever Fred Meyer store - our new retail fave.

I should have known it would happen - I logged on with a strong foreboding and found that England have capitulated in the cricket. Still tomorrow is another day.

No More Driving On The Right

Transport of delight

The OG tour bus has rolled back into the city, latest stop Portland Oregon. The tour bus (Ford Focus) has been returned safely and unmolested to Avis after fourteen hundred miles of faithful service - BFP doesn't do downtown driving, it is safe for neither him nor the locals.

First impressions of Portland are favourable - we even had a taxi driver who was listening to the BBC, what a dude! BFP/OG and the tour groupie are shacked up in the uber trendy Inn at Northrup Station, so cool it is bordering on glacial. The room has two televisions (but no pool to throw them into) and a kitchen. Dig the vibe at Northrup Station .

But enough of Portand for that will surely follow. No I must boast (that is the only fair word) about the day OG and groupie had yesterday. We breakfasted of donuts, tea for her and coffee for him. We then set out with every intention of buying lunchtime provender from the artisan bakery in Yachats. It was closed and this was our first stroke of luck because it drove us into the arms of the retail giant that is Fred Meyer, Florence, OR branch. Shopping is something America does better than us - simply put there is nowhere in England where one can buy four 250 ml picnic cans of Californian pinot grigio (for $4.99 mark you), two quality sandwiches, A tub of varied olives and peppers, a tub of fresh fruit, and a University of Oregon teeshirt all in one place. With air conditioning that actually works and toilets (sorry restrooms) that are fit for use.

The drive to Florence was fortuitous because the views going South-bound on Route101 are even more stunning than those we had seen coming up the other way. The Oregon coast is indescribably awesome so I won't bother, I'll instead cull a couple of pictures from the old inter web thing and hope they give you a flavour. Put it this way, I'm relatively well travelled but, in the words of the song, I ain't never seen nothing like this. The first is of the Oregon Dune Belt; the second of the beach at the Muriel L. Ponsler Memorial Picnic Area  off 101. We walked for a mile in each direction and saw, in mid holiday season, only twenty living souls - and four of those were dogs. Muriel must have been some woman to merit a memorial like that.

Finally a word for a fine end to a fine day - dinner at Ona in Yachats was very much up to scratch: chicken which Mrs OG/Groupie described as fabulous; surf and turf for OG/BFP in which the turf was good and the surf divine. We will be back to Yachats and, given the journey from Brum, that's quite a promise and quite a recommendation of a heavenly spot on the map.