Gulang Santubong, August 14th, 6.57pm.
Today my plan was to climb mount Santubong (c.810m), between the village of Santubong and Damai beach resort. I was woken at 8am to my hostel room phone ringing. Sarah managed to somehow get through from Canada. We spoke for about 45 minutes which was very nice despite the 15 hour time difference which meant I had literally woken up.. Anyway, too much information, but it has a point - my room is quite cell-like - there are no windows and a small bed in one corner, a small desk in another and much welcome air con. But, the lack of light means I won't wake up. I currently have no watch and mobile is kapoot so zero way of telling the time. So, lucky me I had a nice chat and got woken up.
I got to Santubong about 10am. I think I was a bit ill-prepared again. I've been quite blase travelling this time, but occasionally I get a wake-up call like I did today. Anyway I was wearing trekking sandals and had sufficient water so thought I would be ok.
You have to register at the start so they know who is on the mountain and ideally they take a mobile number, but obviously mine is on the blink. So, I off I went into the jungle enjoying the sounds again and the rich plant life. After twenty minutes or so I was soaked in sweat and realised this trek was going to be harder than I thought. I passed some workers mending a bridge and I forded a river next to them. I fell in, much to their amusement. I passed on, ego bruised a little.
The path started to get steeper and there were frayed ropes and tree trunks to hold on to at some points. Everywhere was slippy and I was getting a little nervous. The worst bit was a vertical drop. The rope was frayed and the rocks looked treacherous. I threw my bags down and then gingerly made my own way down. I worried about my ability to get back up again. I felt fear at this point. It's that sort of gut wrenching, throat gripping fear which only happens once or twice. The last time was on a trek on my own in Peru.
Anyway, ever the bloody-minded one I carried on.
And then the rain started. It's a rainforest. It rains a lot. It comes down in torrents and I was soaked through in minutes. There is absolutely no point in wearing waterproofs. It was weirdly calming and I was suddenly aware of the overwhelming, pungent smell of wild garlic.
I continued with water pouring off me, treading ever more carefully as the path turned to river. I saw an opening (if you've ever spent long periods in a jungle you'll know how inviting a open glade appears). I made for it and had reached a junction - the summit 2.5 hours or the easy(!) route down, 45 minutes. I thought I would continue up.
I saw a sprightly young guy coming down towards me who informed me that he had made it to the top, but that it was even harder than the way I had come. He talked of more frayed ropes and slippery rope ladders. Alarms bells started to ring.
So, the mountain or the rain or a combination of the two defeated me and I continued back down, sopping. Eventually it stopped and I sunned myself on a rock, drying out myself and all my soaked flight e-tickets and ho hum passport!
From the bottom I walked 2.5km back to my original start point to sign out.
The afternoon was spent in Damai Beach Resort; actually a horrible self-contained resort. The only saving grace was the beach which was stunning, looking out to Malaysian hilltops. Oh and they served food and beer.
Notes on food and drink:
I'm inadvertently eating like a Muslim at present (it's Ramadan) i.e. little during daylight, mainly because the heat kills my appetite and then several meals in the evening.
I had a Malaysian fried rice dish the other day - made with vegetables and pieces of chicken and prawn.
Today I ate Sarawak (the region I'm in) Laksa - basically a soup made with fish curry sauce, filled with noodles, chicken pieces, prawn, raw vegetables and sliced omelette. Very hot, but delicious.
Drinking is a must. Isotonic drinks are a favourite here and I've been enjoying several cans a day of '100 plus' - 'helps you maintain an active lifestyle', probably similar to the role that lucozade plays in treating diarrhoea!.
Top traveller tip
Internet places are few and far between in Kuching, but there is a Hilton hotel. The last couple of days I've been pretending to be a guest and have been getting unlimited access for free. Love it.
Tomorrow I spend a night in Kubah National Park and will hopefully see some tree frogs. On Monday/Tuesday I stay in Bako National Park, where I might finally get to meet a loris. We are similar in many ways..
Saturday, 14 August 2010
Friday, 13 August 2010
Jungle Trek
Kabu National Park, near Kuching, Sarawak, Malaysian Borneo, Friday 13th (!) August 2010
So, today i got out of the city. I was eager to get to the jungle which is one of the main reasons I came here. I was up at 6.30am - yes I'm on holiday - mainly so I could get breakfast and catch the earliest bus to the Park and avoid trekking in the heat.
The bus was due to leave at 7.30am and I stood at what I thought was the correct bus stop for a good 40 minutes, occasionally asking locals if I was in the right place. Ninety percent of responses were affirmative. Then I asked some old bloke and he directed to a place that I did think might be a bus terminal as buses moved freely in and out! My bus had long gone so I commandeered a mini-bus from a random who took me direct to the park for a fee (bartered down from what could have been excessive).
I was the first in the park and the ranger Dominic (!) was keen to tell me all about it, devise me an ideal route and make sure I was properly equipped. I was wearing board shorts and trainers, but before you laugh I was told this was sensible as I would be able to see and feel any leeches crawling up my legs.
So armed with litres of water and other rations I headed into the jungle. I did not meet anyone for 3 hours. It was so great to be back in the forest. It's a sensory overload with birds and insects calling, the increasingly frenetic screams of monkeys and the rich plant life from massive fig trees to tiny orchids. The heat was breathtaking; I was soaked in sweat in minutes. I love it though. Feeling truly at one with nature and yourself and noticing every tread, every breath and every beadlet of sweat that trickles.
I finished up at a treetop viewpoint looking north towards Bako National Park where I'll be heading in a few days. Bako has animals on tap - apparently long-tailed macaques and lemurs will literally come up to you. You can also see proboscis monkeys, bearded pigs and a wealth of bird life.
Kabu is more secluded and the animals are more shy, but I think it's more appealing for that i.e. it does not attract many visitors. I'm going back tomorrow night to complete the summit trek and to spend the night in one of the rainforest lodges. You can go out to a pond (which began as a scrape created by bearded pigs) and see tree frogs by torchlight.
I took the bus back this afternoon. It was 15 x cheaper and took twice as long. I was surrounded by school kids going home for the day.
A few things to note (mainly for dad) -
- I didn't get a single mosquito bite, so either the jungle formula I'm using is super strong or the bugs are less imposing than those in the Amazon.... famous last words.
- Despite my inappropriate attire, I didn't get a single leech or tick on me!
- The mosquito hairnet was not worn. But, it may be one for the evening trek.
ps Dad when are we writing our travel book??
Thursday, 12 August 2010
Three Days Three Countries
So, I'm now in Borneo at one of the only internet points in Kuching, a city in the east. There is also a queue and I have been waiting one hour, so this won't be the long prose I intended.
It is Thursday night at 21:45 and I thought the title was appropriate as I have indeed crossed into three countries in the last three days.
I will write more later but my reflections on all three are as follows:
Mumbai, India (Monday 10th August 2010; c.12 hours).
1. It helps to have a good, local guide. My guide was called Freni, incredibly well-informed and she took me to a myriad of places in the short time we had - Gandhi's sometime residence, the place where the Dhobi washermen wash clothes outdoors - this includes a hot and cold wash and ironing spot, the gateway to Mumbai, a large fort entrance at the South of the city built for British Royalty, a huge variety of architectural styles courtesy of the many occupants and two groundwater fed gardens at the highest point of the city.
2. The international airport is new and does not represent any of external Mumbai; even the arrivals area is muted and controlled by soldiers, not the baying masses I expected to see.
3. The city proper is hot as hell, visceral and in your face on all levels.
4. There is a real spirit of endeavour and enterprise in all the people. We could learn a lot from their aspirational desires and will to work.
5. Small idiosyncratic things that become apparent to you like the universal rolling of the head when things don't quite go the way they should.
Singapore, Wednesday 11th August.
Singapore is about everything Mumbai is not. From the moment you arrive in the airport you can then carry on with the minimum of thought or worry. I did feel a bit like a robot with a constant presence and guiding arm around me. I can imagine that if I spent a lot of time there the urge to rebel would be massive.
What I sampled of the food though is amazing. My friend Sam took me to a local restaurant called Longhouse and we ate like Kings sampling a vast array of food types - indian, malay, chinese, whatever dish you fancied.
Kuching, Borneo, Thursday 12th August.
On the flight over I could see the patches of slash and burn and smoke rising from cleared virgin forest. A sign of our global demand to consume and quite stark when seen from above.
Kuching is a large city, although sleepier than I imagined. I spent the day strolling around, then took a boat across the Sarawak River (I'm staying on the south side) to walk around. There is an orchid garden, an amazing array of flowers but the most interesting bit was the 'rehabilitation centre'. Lots of poor, wilting plants taken away for tlc. Cute.
I took a small boat down the river at sundown and had some stunning views of the Sarawak mountains as the sun set. Simply stunning.
Tomorrow I'm going to a nearby National Park to get a taster for the hardcore jungle trekking I'm planning later in the week.
Malaysian are very kind and hospitable. I have already experienced this on numerous occasions.
The heat is enduring. It makes me wilt, but it also slows everything down which is nice.
Finally, after 2.5 years of flight abstinence I did not enjoy my longhaul, 2 night flights in a row experience. There is only so many ways you can bend your legs on an economy flight and it doesn't help that you are fed curry and beer at 12.30am. Of course I didn't have to eat it, but it seemed rude not too!
It is Thursday night at 21:45 and I thought the title was appropriate as I have indeed crossed into three countries in the last three days.
I will write more later but my reflections on all three are as follows:
Mumbai, India (Monday 10th August 2010; c.12 hours).
1. It helps to have a good, local guide. My guide was called Freni, incredibly well-informed and she took me to a myriad of places in the short time we had - Gandhi's sometime residence, the place where the Dhobi washermen wash clothes outdoors - this includes a hot and cold wash and ironing spot, the gateway to Mumbai, a large fort entrance at the South of the city built for British Royalty, a huge variety of architectural styles courtesy of the many occupants and two groundwater fed gardens at the highest point of the city.
2. The international airport is new and does not represent any of external Mumbai; even the arrivals area is muted and controlled by soldiers, not the baying masses I expected to see.
3. The city proper is hot as hell, visceral and in your face on all levels.
4. There is a real spirit of endeavour and enterprise in all the people. We could learn a lot from their aspirational desires and will to work.
5. Small idiosyncratic things that become apparent to you like the universal rolling of the head when things don't quite go the way they should.
Singapore, Wednesday 11th August.
Singapore is about everything Mumbai is not. From the moment you arrive in the airport you can then carry on with the minimum of thought or worry. I did feel a bit like a robot with a constant presence and guiding arm around me. I can imagine that if I spent a lot of time there the urge to rebel would be massive.
What I sampled of the food though is amazing. My friend Sam took me to a local restaurant called Longhouse and we ate like Kings sampling a vast array of food types - indian, malay, chinese, whatever dish you fancied.
Kuching, Borneo, Thursday 12th August.
On the flight over I could see the patches of slash and burn and smoke rising from cleared virgin forest. A sign of our global demand to consume and quite stark when seen from above.
Kuching is a large city, although sleepier than I imagined. I spent the day strolling around, then took a boat across the Sarawak River (I'm staying on the south side) to walk around. There is an orchid garden, an amazing array of flowers but the most interesting bit was the 'rehabilitation centre'. Lots of poor, wilting plants taken away for tlc. Cute.
I took a small boat down the river at sundown and had some stunning views of the Sarawak mountains as the sun set. Simply stunning.
Tomorrow I'm going to a nearby National Park to get a taster for the hardcore jungle trekking I'm planning later in the week.
Malaysian are very kind and hospitable. I have already experienced this on numerous occasions.
The heat is enduring. It makes me wilt, but it also slows everything down which is nice.
Finally, after 2.5 years of flight abstinence I did not enjoy my longhaul, 2 night flights in a row experience. There is only so many ways you can bend your legs on an economy flight and it doesn't help that you are fed curry and beer at 12.30am. Of course I didn't have to eat it, but it seemed rude not too!
Sunday, 8 August 2010
Monsoon
Monsoon.
Rain like bullets.
Firing down from a leaden sky.
Bouncing off pavements.
Penetrating layers
Seeping through soles.
Seeking the earth the drops
skid along roads
Down roof tops and drain pipes
Urban trees
Dusty soldiers of cities
Relish the wet wash.
Grass bent and brown
from blazing hot days and summer tread
Go green from the first moisture touches.
People stand.
bedraggled
wet t-shirts out.
Monsoon.
Short
Sharp
Wet
Rain like bullets.
Firing down from a leaden sky.
Bouncing off pavements.
Penetrating layers
Seeping through soles.
Seeking the earth the drops
skid along roads
Down roof tops and drain pipes
Urban trees
Dusty soldiers of cities
Relish the wet wash.
Grass bent and brown
from blazing hot days and summer tread
Go green from the first moisture touches.
People stand.
bedraggled
wet t-shirts out.
Monsoon.
Short
Sharp
Wet
Sunday, 25 July 2010
The Wedding
I have returned from my brother's wedding. Three days of emotion - intimacy, colour and genuine people.
Nick, my brother has also been particularly special to me. He is my big brother and we are close, people are always surprised how close, but it is a strong bond.
Nick has been with his partner Sally for ten years and they have two lovely daughters, Isla and Erin. Sally proposed in January and my brother accepted. The organisation began.
As close family we attended the legal ceremony on Friday, at a registry office. An off-shoot of Manchester Town Hall. There were anxious moments in the 'holding room'. My niece, Isla, felt the weight of her responsibility - holding the rings and was too afraid to play.
The legal bit was short, but emotionally charged. I've been on the cusp of tears for weeks. I can honestly say there is nothing more beautiful than seeing someone you love dearly express their love for someone else.
Saturday was the main event. Sally had arranged to have a humanist ceremony in Mottram-St-Andrew, a small village outside Manchester. We took over the village hall and surrounding green for the day.
The ceremony was conducted by Lara, Sally's best friend of old. She lead us through the vows (hand-written by the couple) with poise. The ceremony included music by Sally's brother Joe and partner Polly and a couple of readings by me. I chose two Robert Burns poems. I wanted to accentuate my brother's Scottishness (he wore a kilt on the day).
There were more tears and afterwards we mingled on the lawn drinking cava until we were called to dinner. Dinner was a sumptuous buffet put together by a family friend. Lines and lines of adults and children snaked around the food.
My brother and Sally said their thank yous before the cake was cut. My brother broke down when presenting me with my thank you gift. I was touched and had tears again. Not a good way to start my own speech.
The speech for my brother was the most important thing I have ever said. It meant so much that I chose the right words for him. I wanted to express how much I admire, appreciate and love him. It was nerve-wracking and I shook but somehow I got through it. I felt I had done him justice.
The rest of the evening was fun! I could relax. We danced our socks off at the ceilidh and then a hardcore few stayed on for Nick and Sally's music mix. Nick, Sally, me and one very tired 5 year old niece headed home about midnight.
I've put the transcript of the speech below. I gave my brother the original for posterity.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My brother the hero
Speaking on behalf of my brother, Nick is an honour. Particularly at his wedding ceremony. I'm
not intending that this follow any sort of tried and tested format, I haven't included any jokes or cribbed any words from the internet, but what I'm going to say is from the heart and based on knowing my brother for the last 32 years and Sally for the past 10.
I want to start by paying a bit of a tribute to Nick. Nick is one of those people who lives life under the radar and out of the spotlight. I can honestly say (and yes I am biased) that he is the most caring, thoughtful, selfless, compassionate person I know. There are so many instances of this I can recall, ever since we were kids:
1) Nick fed me sweets when I cried as a baby (he learned very quickly that I had a sweet tooth and this would shut me up).
2) Nick invited me down to London when I was 16 to a party at his flat. This was one of the main reasons why I moved down to London. Nick spent most of the night getting pissed off with any guy who tried to chat me up.
3) Nick took me to my first ever gay club when I was 21. How many straight men do you know who would do that? And, he got more interest than I did!
4) Taking me out for meals when I was an impoverished student, even though he didn't have much money himself. I'll always remember the Spaghetti House in Leicester Square with fond regard, not least because we both fancied the Italian waitress!
5) Nick is the one person I know I can call in my time of need.
There are many more examples I could cite and many are deeply personal, but I'll stop here. Suffice to say, Nick is a very special man and Nick I love you very much.
So, what is Nick like and what does he like?
Nick is sporty and hugely competitive, a family trait (or some might say affliction). Nick has always been a mountaineer. He has our dad to thank for that obsession. He loves cycling and hint hint he really needs a new bike! I remember he had all the gear when we were kids. He took a while to grow when he was a teenager and did look slightly ridiculous in all the Tour de France gear, but I think cycling gave him freedom to get out and away, much like moutain climbing does and now, latterly, running. Nick regularly runs 10k in under 45 minutes. For those of you who aren't sport freaks, that is a very good time!
Nick completed his bronze Duke of Edinburgh Award when he was 16 with a little bit of help from dad who built a rabbit hutch on his behalf. He did the rest himself.
Nick loves football. His playing days are pretty much over, but I believe that he was one of the first ever wing backs when he played in orange for Kenwood Boys Club in Louisiana aged 6. His team is Machester City and Rangers (he doesn't like to admit that, but once a blue nose always a blue nose).
Nick is no dancer, but he's not afraid to post a few letters on the dancefloor. His music tastes have changed over time (he has always had slightly alternative tastes). In his teenage years he spent a lot of time in his room listening to Metallica and Iron Maiden. I think I was one of the few 10 year olds singing 'Harvest of Sorrow' (Metallica tune by the way). He had his dance era, acid house, club anthems and lots of nights out in clubs dabbling in a bit of this and a bit of that. Indie came and Nick came into his own. Oasis were a favourite and various other bands I forget or had never heard of (I was never quite 'cool' enough). Nick has always had a taste for 70's and soul and funk and enjoyed dressing up in big wigs and flares. These days he's quite into soul and funk and fittingly Northern soul given that he now lives in Manchester. But, he always loves getting his kilt on and dancing to some Scottish music.
Nick has always been particular about personal hygiene. I'm not sure how many Dove deodorants he gets through a month, but I'm sure they contribute fairly significantly to the weekly shopping bill.
Nick is quite a fine cook. He does a mean curry and is always handy with a bit of fish. Most recently he has turned his hand to baking. Some of you might have sampled the birthday cakes he made for Isla and Erin in the style of a dinosaur. Aesthetically pleasing and tasty too.
What about girls? Well, Nick was always popular with the ladies, well once he grew. Nick was 5ft until the age of 16. He blamed it on his genes. It gave me cause to endlessly tease him about! I didn't realise how popular he was until I went to see him in London when I was 16. There were women all over him. But, Nick was never the arrogant type. He always had a girlfriend or some love interest but he never crowed about it. And they came and went, came and went.. until one day when Nick was about 26 he mentioned a girl called Sally. Nick was working for Mencap at the time as a manager. It was a stressful position and drinking post-work was a big part of the culture. It was through Mencap that he met another manager, Sally Francis.
Nick always had girlfriends so I didn't think too much about it when he said he wanted me to meet her. I think I was tired and didn't make too much of an effort, but I wasn't prepared for the rebuke I got the next day. 'I can't believe you didn't make any effort' he said as well as some other phrases which I can't repeat... I realised she was pretty special to him.
Sally or 'Frank' or 'Franco' as Nick calls her had arrived. I remember the first time Frank met my mum. She had had one too many Stellas and decided it would be a good idea to perform some acrobatics on the tube. Nick looked on in horror, my mum was silently bemused. The Frank and Stella show was one to behold. These days Stella stays firmly in the off licence.
Within one year they were living together in Tottenham. It didn't get much more glamorous than that. Six months travelling followed. Nick's sense of adventure was tested to the limit on sky dives and bungee jumps, as well as traveller's diarrhoea which succeeded in reducing the man to half his normal size.
But, they survived and within three years Isla was born in West Norwood, a South London suburb town, near leafy Dulwich, but not quite as posh. Isla was born at home in West Norwood on a pond liner. An important detail. I believe Nick dealt with the afterbirth. And a couple of years later Erin was born at home in Manchester, delivered by Nick.
They are both very happy in Manchester. I think the more laidback pace of life suits them. I find it hard to believe that it really has been 10 years, but that is testament to the strength of their relationship. Time flies and all that.
I want to finish with a list of my favourite Nick and Sally memories:
a) Going to see John play at UCL and meeting Noel Gallagher from Oasis. We were all awestruck except Frank who nonchalently asked him for a cigarette.
b) Going for an Indian on Brick Lane, drinking one too many Stellas and arguing about the Iraq war. This culminated in my then girlfriend storming off, closely followed by Nick. Frank and I stayed on chatting and finishing off our beers.
c) Meeting Nick and Sally at the end of their travels in Chicago. We swam in Lake Michigan and had a dance-off at a street party in the evening.
d) When Nick, Sally and baby Isla met me off the plane after my own 9 month world trip.
e) Holidaying in Kefalonia with Nick, Sally, Isla, Erin and my dad.
There are many more memories and there will be more to come in the future.
You are a lovely couple, welcoming and so easy to be around.
You have two beautiful daughters.
And I wish you all the happiness for the future. I love you both very much.
Nick, my brother has also been particularly special to me. He is my big brother and we are close, people are always surprised how close, but it is a strong bond.
Nick has been with his partner Sally for ten years and they have two lovely daughters, Isla and Erin. Sally proposed in January and my brother accepted. The organisation began.
As close family we attended the legal ceremony on Friday, at a registry office. An off-shoot of Manchester Town Hall. There were anxious moments in the 'holding room'. My niece, Isla, felt the weight of her responsibility - holding the rings and was too afraid to play.
The legal bit was short, but emotionally charged. I've been on the cusp of tears for weeks. I can honestly say there is nothing more beautiful than seeing someone you love dearly express their love for someone else.
Saturday was the main event. Sally had arranged to have a humanist ceremony in Mottram-St-Andrew, a small village outside Manchester. We took over the village hall and surrounding green for the day.
The ceremony was conducted by Lara, Sally's best friend of old. She lead us through the vows (hand-written by the couple) with poise. The ceremony included music by Sally's brother Joe and partner Polly and a couple of readings by me. I chose two Robert Burns poems. I wanted to accentuate my brother's Scottishness (he wore a kilt on the day).
There were more tears and afterwards we mingled on the lawn drinking cava until we were called to dinner. Dinner was a sumptuous buffet put together by a family friend. Lines and lines of adults and children snaked around the food.
My brother and Sally said their thank yous before the cake was cut. My brother broke down when presenting me with my thank you gift. I was touched and had tears again. Not a good way to start my own speech.
The speech for my brother was the most important thing I have ever said. It meant so much that I chose the right words for him. I wanted to express how much I admire, appreciate and love him. It was nerve-wracking and I shook but somehow I got through it. I felt I had done him justice.
The rest of the evening was fun! I could relax. We danced our socks off at the ceilidh and then a hardcore few stayed on for Nick and Sally's music mix. Nick, Sally, me and one very tired 5 year old niece headed home about midnight.
I've put the transcript of the speech below. I gave my brother the original for posterity.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My brother the hero
Speaking on behalf of my brother, Nick is an honour. Particularly at his wedding ceremony. I'm
not intending that this follow any sort of tried and tested format, I haven't included any jokes or cribbed any words from the internet, but what I'm going to say is from the heart and based on knowing my brother for the last 32 years and Sally for the past 10.
I want to start by paying a bit of a tribute to Nick. Nick is one of those people who lives life under the radar and out of the spotlight. I can honestly say (and yes I am biased) that he is the most caring, thoughtful, selfless, compassionate person I know. There are so many instances of this I can recall, ever since we were kids:
1) Nick fed me sweets when I cried as a baby (he learned very quickly that I had a sweet tooth and this would shut me up).
2) Nick invited me down to London when I was 16 to a party at his flat. This was one of the main reasons why I moved down to London. Nick spent most of the night getting pissed off with any guy who tried to chat me up.
3) Nick took me to my first ever gay club when I was 21. How many straight men do you know who would do that? And, he got more interest than I did!
4) Taking me out for meals when I was an impoverished student, even though he didn't have much money himself. I'll always remember the Spaghetti House in Leicester Square with fond regard, not least because we both fancied the Italian waitress!
5) Nick is the one person I know I can call in my time of need.
There are many more examples I could cite and many are deeply personal, but I'll stop here. Suffice to say, Nick is a very special man and Nick I love you very much.
So, what is Nick like and what does he like?
Nick is sporty and hugely competitive, a family trait (or some might say affliction). Nick has always been a mountaineer. He has our dad to thank for that obsession. He loves cycling and hint hint he really needs a new bike! I remember he had all the gear when we were kids. He took a while to grow when he was a teenager and did look slightly ridiculous in all the Tour de France gear, but I think cycling gave him freedom to get out and away, much like moutain climbing does and now, latterly, running. Nick regularly runs 10k in under 45 minutes. For those of you who aren't sport freaks, that is a very good time!
Nick completed his bronze Duke of Edinburgh Award when he was 16 with a little bit of help from dad who built a rabbit hutch on his behalf. He did the rest himself.
Nick loves football. His playing days are pretty much over, but I believe that he was one of the first ever wing backs when he played in orange for Kenwood Boys Club in Louisiana aged 6. His team is Machester City and Rangers (he doesn't like to admit that, but once a blue nose always a blue nose).
Nick is no dancer, but he's not afraid to post a few letters on the dancefloor. His music tastes have changed over time (he has always had slightly alternative tastes). In his teenage years he spent a lot of time in his room listening to Metallica and Iron Maiden. I think I was one of the few 10 year olds singing 'Harvest of Sorrow' (Metallica tune by the way). He had his dance era, acid house, club anthems and lots of nights out in clubs dabbling in a bit of this and a bit of that. Indie came and Nick came into his own. Oasis were a favourite and various other bands I forget or had never heard of (I was never quite 'cool' enough). Nick has always had a taste for 70's and soul and funk and enjoyed dressing up in big wigs and flares. These days he's quite into soul and funk and fittingly Northern soul given that he now lives in Manchester. But, he always loves getting his kilt on and dancing to some Scottish music.
Nick has always been particular about personal hygiene. I'm not sure how many Dove deodorants he gets through a month, but I'm sure they contribute fairly significantly to the weekly shopping bill.
Nick is quite a fine cook. He does a mean curry and is always handy with a bit of fish. Most recently he has turned his hand to baking. Some of you might have sampled the birthday cakes he made for Isla and Erin in the style of a dinosaur. Aesthetically pleasing and tasty too.
What about girls? Well, Nick was always popular with the ladies, well once he grew. Nick was 5ft until the age of 16. He blamed it on his genes. It gave me cause to endlessly tease him about! I didn't realise how popular he was until I went to see him in London when I was 16. There were women all over him. But, Nick was never the arrogant type. He always had a girlfriend or some love interest but he never crowed about it. And they came and went, came and went.. until one day when Nick was about 26 he mentioned a girl called Sally. Nick was working for Mencap at the time as a manager. It was a stressful position and drinking post-work was a big part of the culture. It was through Mencap that he met another manager, Sally Francis.
Nick always had girlfriends so I didn't think too much about it when he said he wanted me to meet her. I think I was tired and didn't make too much of an effort, but I wasn't prepared for the rebuke I got the next day. 'I can't believe you didn't make any effort' he said as well as some other phrases which I can't repeat... I realised she was pretty special to him.
Sally or 'Frank' or 'Franco' as Nick calls her had arrived. I remember the first time Frank met my mum. She had had one too many Stellas and decided it would be a good idea to perform some acrobatics on the tube. Nick looked on in horror, my mum was silently bemused. The Frank and Stella show was one to behold. These days Stella stays firmly in the off licence.
Within one year they were living together in Tottenham. It didn't get much more glamorous than that. Six months travelling followed. Nick's sense of adventure was tested to the limit on sky dives and bungee jumps, as well as traveller's diarrhoea which succeeded in reducing the man to half his normal size.
But, they survived and within three years Isla was born in West Norwood, a South London suburb town, near leafy Dulwich, but not quite as posh. Isla was born at home in West Norwood on a pond liner. An important detail. I believe Nick dealt with the afterbirth. And a couple of years later Erin was born at home in Manchester, delivered by Nick.
They are both very happy in Manchester. I think the more laidback pace of life suits them. I find it hard to believe that it really has been 10 years, but that is testament to the strength of their relationship. Time flies and all that.
I want to finish with a list of my favourite Nick and Sally memories:
a) Going to see John play at UCL and meeting Noel Gallagher from Oasis. We were all awestruck except Frank who nonchalently asked him for a cigarette.
b) Going for an Indian on Brick Lane, drinking one too many Stellas and arguing about the Iraq war. This culminated in my then girlfriend storming off, closely followed by Nick. Frank and I stayed on chatting and finishing off our beers.
c) Meeting Nick and Sally at the end of their travels in Chicago. We swam in Lake Michigan and had a dance-off at a street party in the evening.
d) When Nick, Sally and baby Isla met me off the plane after my own 9 month world trip.
e) Holidaying in Kefalonia with Nick, Sally, Isla, Erin and my dad.
There are many more memories and there will be more to come in the future.
You are a lovely couple, welcoming and so easy to be around.
You have two beautiful daughters.
And I wish you all the happiness for the future. I love you both very much.
Monday, 28 June 2010
The Gite
No dog days.
Just a roaming dog giving love freely.
Two chickens: one bold, one shy both free to peck at will.
A fishing lake chock full of carp
The flash of scales occasionally breaking the glassy waters.
Pond skaters skidding on the surface tension.
Lakeside portraits in sepia as the sun goes down.
A grassy bank made good in tartan.
Breakfast al fresco.
Fish cooked on charcoal.
Rich reds in our living room.
A wooden staircase leads to the bedroom, where
supporting beams hold the up the room of our love.
Naked we roll in an earthy bed that smells of smoke and soon the rich smells of us entwined.
Star gazing and the milky way overhead.
A million tiny lights twinkle on and off.
You create a home from home.
Your domestic bliss envelopes me.
Birdsong, sweet and melodic fills the hours.
A millpond at dawn, the stillness broken by a silent beaver, rod straight, stealthy, calm.
A smile when you wake and before you sleep.
Love on the lips and
on the tip of my tongue.
Just a roaming dog giving love freely.
Two chickens: one bold, one shy both free to peck at will.
A fishing lake chock full of carp
The flash of scales occasionally breaking the glassy waters.
Pond skaters skidding on the surface tension.
Lakeside portraits in sepia as the sun goes down.
A grassy bank made good in tartan.
Breakfast al fresco.
Fish cooked on charcoal.
Rich reds in our living room.
A wooden staircase leads to the bedroom, where
supporting beams hold the up the room of our love.
Naked we roll in an earthy bed that smells of smoke and soon the rich smells of us entwined.
Star gazing and the milky way overhead.
A million tiny lights twinkle on and off.
You create a home from home.
Your domestic bliss envelopes me.
Birdsong, sweet and melodic fills the hours.
A millpond at dawn, the stillness broken by a silent beaver, rod straight, stealthy, calm.
A smile when you wake and before you sleep.
Love on the lips and
on the tip of my tongue.
Friday, 25 June 2010
Poem Friday #15
Quite how it got to #15 I don't know, but summer is most definitely upon us and there are multiple distractions from blogging... sun, football, tennis, outdoor swimming etc etc.
There is a guide to London's great trees which we now own and we have been two see two so far - a beautiful 300 year old London Plane in Brunswick Square (part of the grounds owned by Foundling the 18th century philanthropist) and Hardy's Ash in the cemetery of Old St Pancras Church. It is also several hundred years old. The young Thomas Hardy worked in the cemetery before his literary fame and left around 40 -.50? gravestones stacked against a young ash tree. The tree grew around them, and the stones have become part of it's form. Quite lovely really... We saw the ash tree as the sun set. The orange glow was beautiful.
Trees
Admire the pillars of our space
Quietly respiring
in parks
on roadsides
and gardens.
Shielding cemeteries,
As old as graves
they stand.
Lie under the bough
of a London Plane
Look up and see
the sun shimmer through
green-hued veins.
Touch the bark of an ancient Ash
Texture rough
Protecting a hollow core.
Stand on a hilltop and look upon
the weighty form
of a great oak.
Deep in a pine forest
Inhale the fragrant scent
and listen
as the wind whistles
through sharp needles.
Red berries in winter
on the holly bush
Fruit for all seasons.
Admire the trees
as they stand
tall
quietly
observing
the changes we make.
There is a guide to London's great trees which we now own and we have been two see two so far - a beautiful 300 year old London Plane in Brunswick Square (part of the grounds owned by Foundling the 18th century philanthropist) and Hardy's Ash in the cemetery of Old St Pancras Church. It is also several hundred years old. The young Thomas Hardy worked in the cemetery before his literary fame and left around 40 -.50? gravestones stacked against a young ash tree. The tree grew around them, and the stones have become part of it's form. Quite lovely really... We saw the ash tree as the sun set. The orange glow was beautiful.
Trees
Admire the pillars of our space
Quietly respiring
in parks
on roadsides
and gardens.
Shielding cemeteries,
As old as graves
they stand.
Lie under the bough
of a London Plane
Look up and see
the sun shimmer through
green-hued veins.
Touch the bark of an ancient Ash
Texture rough
Protecting a hollow core.
Stand on a hilltop and look upon
the weighty form
of a great oak.
Deep in a pine forest
Inhale the fragrant scent
and listen
as the wind whistles
through sharp needles.
Red berries in winter
on the holly bush
Fruit for all seasons.
Admire the trees
as they stand
tall
quietly
observing
the changes we make.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
