The diaries give very few clues about this short break to Cornwall. I think we both simply agreed to book out the first three days working days of that week and drive off to Cornwall.
We went in Red Noddy – at that time my company car – a souped-up automatic Honda Civic. In those days Janie had Blue Noddy – a slightly older, souped-down automatic Honda Civic.
The only clue as to our destination in either diary is the slightly misleading note in Janie’s:
“Rossiney” [sic] – meaning “Bossiney” House Hotel Tintagel
I think we stayed there two nights – dining at the hotel on one night and “commuting” to Rick Stein’s Padstow Restaurant the other night. That Rick Stein meal was an excellent one and I think in those days Rick Stein himself was still hanging around that place when we dined there.
From memory, I think we then drove on to St Ives and stayed somewhere around there for a couple of nights – exploring St Ives, Lands End itself and whatever else was worth seeing at that very south-western tip of Great Britain.
Janie had written down…
…”Gyllyndune Manor” (Falmouth)…
…but crossed it out. I don’t think there was room at the inn or perhaps she decided she didn’t like the sound of it. I vaguely recall just allowing enough time on arrival at St Ives to check places out and plug for something. Midweek in April this was not a tough ask.
The only thing I wrote down in my diary for the whole trip was…
…*Ben Murphy…
…and I do recall trying to call my west-country comedy customer Ben Murphy ahead of our journey home, with a view to possibly stopping off for a quick face-to-face on his home turf in Somerset. Ben made himself scarce for that idea…or possibly simply was, as he said later, otherwise engaged. Hard to pin down, was Ben.
I don’t think we took any photos on that break – at least I cannot find any and neither of us, at the moment, remembers taking any. Yet it seems strange that we didn’t. Possibly a mislaid batch of photos will emerge in the fullness of time – don’t hold your breath, though.
For now, feast your eyes on a couple of pictures that good folk put in the public domain.
Janie had originally intended to visit Phillie, Tony & Charlie in Germany that long weekend, but for reasons long since lost in the mists of time that idea fell through and I suggested, instead, a visit to Hope, in the Dark Peaks of Derbyshire.
Similar place.
The night before we set off reads “Lars Piss Up” in my diary, which I assume was the night of Lars Schiphorst‘s informal leaving do after work.
So I don’t suppose Janie and I set off for Derbyshire at the crack of dawn 26th.
I have/had long loved the Dark Peaks – one of the better kept secrets (amongst many) in the UK as places for stunning countryside, walking and away from the more touristic “usual suspect” places in the North.
In truth, the search for peace away from tourists in the beautiful parts of The North can be satisfied pretty much anywhere in February, but I didn’t know that back then.
Two or three years earlier, I had stumbled across a lovely place to stay, in Hope; Underleigh, when taking a brief sojourn out that way with Wendy Jacobi. We went at a more sensible time of year during 1990.
Lighter looking peaks, plus Wendy Jacobi, no doubt on the way to Hope
The one thing that Janie didn’t like about the place was the communal dining. Dinner, bed and breakfast was the deal in those days (no more, it seems). One big table with an expectation that whoever is staying makes up an informal dinner party for that evening.
We live and learn. Janie has such an aversion to such notions she/we positively avoid such places these days. In the UK they are much rarer now in any case, as the more individualistic culture has swept away the communal, dinner party chic.
The food was good there, albeit a bit rich, I recall. The owner/patrons were very friendly and helpful; a different family now, more than quarter of a century later, I should imagine but rave reviews still.
I remember Janie and I kitting ourselves out for this winter walking trip, with a visit to Millets in Kensington, I think the weekend before when we were at mine.
I also recall the icy walking being really quite difficult and treacherous for us, despite our new clobber. All the gear, but no idea.
Darker peak view from the 1990 trip – no photos from the February 1993 with Janie
Somehow we survived – thrived even – nonetheless, resolving to persevere with hill walking but probably to choose less challenging routes and seasons in future.
The only other specific thing I remember about this trip was a drink in a pub at a suitable stopping point on one of our walks. Janie looked at pictures on the wall of locals from a gurning competition. Janie wondered what they were about so I explained about competitive gurning.
That’s not a very challenging thing to do as a competition…
…said Janie, which motivated one of the locals to chime in to our conversation…
…it’s a lot harder than it looks. You try it…
…so Janie did.
A subsequent gurn some years later, Ethiopia, 2005
The handful of locals were seriously impressed.
I think we might have been bought drinks all afternoon had we hung around in that pub, but we beat our retreat while we were still on top. As much as anything else, we wouldn’t have risked that icy hill walking after any more than one drink.
We have occasionally returned to the Derbyshire Peaks since, although we in the end sort-of made the North York Moors “our place” for that sort of stunning, quite-challenging hill walking.
Janie wore the travelling trousers in those days. She bought a little guide book and scribbled some notes in it.
So from the photos and the guide book we have today (3 December 2017, 25 years later) tried to reconstruct our memories of this little trip.
We didn’t have enormous success with Janie’s hand-written list of eateries above:
Caffè Florian – we indulged ourselves with a coffee but not much more;
Trattoria Alla Madonna – we recall failing to get a booking there. Other trattorias are and were available – we did eat well in Venice, but not there;
Harry’s Bar – we had coffee, cake and a Bellini, because apparently that’s what you must do there;
Gritti Palace – mercifully the top restaurant was closed. I say mercifully, because even the coffee we had in the Gritti Palace bar was, as I described it in my photo caption, probably the most expensive cuppa in the world. We had also hoped to visit the Peggy Gugenheim in that part of town, but that was closed for a refurb at the time.
But, extraordinary as it might seem, we also went out of the room on several occasions and did a rather a lot around Venice, enjoying a mixture of sun and rain during our outings, as evidenced in the photos.
If the labelled, album stack of 26 photos (above) is insufficient for you, the entire library of our Venice photos, “uncut”, is also available – click below:
The photographic evidence and Janie’s markings in the book suggest we did a lot of the usual Venice things:
The Doges’ Palace;
St Mark’s Basilica;
The Frari;
Rialto Bridge;
The Ghetto (I recall seeing it and on one evening eating around there too);
Clock Tower;
Accademia? – not sure we got that far through the list;
Museum of 18th Century Venice? – not sure we got that far through the list either;
Murano – yes – we have photographic evidence of that one, and we still have a glass bowl in the bathroom from there, holding the cotton wool, apparently;
Scuola Grande Di San Rocco – again with evidence:
Also, of course, we wandered around a lot, looking at markets and trying to imagine Death In Venice (in my case) or Don’t Look Now (in Janie’s).
We had a great time. We decided we wanted to explore more places together afterwards, which is a happy ending…
…far more than can be said about the movies that were stuck in our heads.
Harry’s Bar – Don’t Look Now – Death By Chocolate in Venice
I blocked out five nights/six days in my diary for this trip but in the end we only went for three nights/four days and went stright on to Annalisa’s party on our return on the Sunday. It’s as if we spent our life in speeded up mode back then – in our relative dotage, we’d never try to fit anything like so much in.
But before that, only a couple of months after getting it together, we took in some theatre and dining on a long weekend in Stratford-Upon-Avon.
My diary is not terribly helpful with the details:
In those days, bookings and arrangements would have been made by telephone, so there is no electronic trail to speak of. But I did save programmes and started retro-logging theatre visits a bit later in the 1990s. That, combined with our memories, gets us quite a long way towards remembering this trip, even as I write 25 years later.
29 October 1992
We drove up from London to Stratford-Upon-Avon, probably in quite good time (if Janie was already hopeless at packing she would have hidden this from me back then and been ready with her bags, even if had taken her hours to pack).
We would have driven up in Red Noddy, my (or I should say, at that time, still Binder Hamlyn’s) Honda Civic.
We checked in to Twelfth Night Hotel in Evesham Place…recommended by Janie’s client Margaret if Janie’s diary is anything to go by…£22 per person per night according to Janie’s diary…
…(I originally thought The Shakespeare Hotel in Chapel Street, but Janie’s diary is explicit and I now recall that The Shakespeare was from our second visit)…
I think we did a bit of gentle sightseeing during the day. Both of us had been to Stratford-Upon-Avon several times before, but neither of us had done much of the “Shakespeare trail” sightseeing stuff. So much so, that I recall we left some sightseeing stuff over for a future visit.
We weren’t going to the theatre this evening, so we booked a “top notch” place to eat; Lamb’s in Sheep Street. We had a very good meal on that visit and at the time of writing (October 2017) if TripAdvisor is to be believed it has become top notch again. But I do recall a subsequent visit (perhaps late 1990’s or more likely during the twenty-noughties) when the place was in dingy decline. Anyway, top notch it was for our first long weekend together.
31 October 1992
I think we chose to hold back on the sightseeing today (deferring to a future visit) to avoid the weekend crowds. So we mooched around and had a light lunch, ahead of a marathon effort to see a preview of Antony and Cleopatra at the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre, where Janie recalls we ate and drank in situ, before during and after the performance.
1 November 1992
We drove home. The diary suggests that we went to see NewsRevue at the Canal Cafe Theatre that evening. I suppose I was hopeful to see some of my stuff in the show and I don’t suppose I was disappointed at that time. It might have been Janie;s first visit, although we shall do some archaeology into Janie’s old diaries in the fullness of time. Janie’s diary appointment notes might reveal more details about her NewsRevue experiences and perhaps also about our very first long weekend away together in Stratford-Upon Avon.
In fact, that vignette contains most of the specific things I remember about that trip, other than the following scant details:
We flew from London to Dublin, took the train from Dublin to Cork and back, returning to London by plane from Dublin I’m pretty sure;
We stayed in modest hotels in both cities. I don’t recall any high-class meals in Dublin – but I do remember eating and drinking well. We had a good time;
Although Bobbie has/had kin in Ireland, I’m pretty sure we didn’t visit any of them – we basically just looked around Dublin and then looked around Cork;
I was still struggling a bit with my back (from the major 1990 injury) and we sought out swimming pools in both cities, with reasonable success;
In addition to the football match night contained in the Deeply vignette, I also recall the following night, our last, when we ate at the Arbutus Lodge, a rather grand place which had a Michelin star at times and thus we ate a degustation menu at (by Irish standards but certainly not by London standards) enormous expense.
Bobbie might remember some other details and chip in with them – if so I shall add them of course.
I don’t much like soccer football. I’m certainly not one to be deeply affected by a football match. But one match is deeply embedded in my psyche. The Republic of Ireland v Albania in May 1992.
Bobbie and I went to Ireland for a week at that time. My first proper break since my back injury two years earlier and my first ever visit to Ireland. I didn’t take a camera and I didn’t take a notebook, making it the least documented trip I have ever taken abroad.
That football match between Ireland and Albania dominates my memory for two reasons.
Firstly, I remember that, in the build up to the match, the Irish media was full of news about the visiting Albanian team. Initially RTÉ news worried, on behalf of the visitors, because the weather was unseasonably cold in Ireland and the visitors reported an insufficiency of warm clothing. Two days later, RTÉ news appealed to the people of Ireland, asking them to stop sending jumpers, cardigans and the like to the Albanian team’s hotel, because the visitors were now inundated with warm clothing.
A deeply charitable nation, the Irish.
Also a nation deeply passionate about their sports teams.
The Republic of Ireland had done unexpectedly well in the 1990 Football World Cup. This May 1992 match was at the start of the qualification campaign for the next World Cup.
By the time the night of the match arrived, Bobbie and I had moved on from Dublin to Cork. Bobbie is a keen football fan whose dad was Irish. We resolved to watch the match in a suitable-looking pub near our hotel.
As usual in Irish pubs, Bobbie and I were warmly received as guests.
There was much genial chatter about the warm clothing news items. The vibe was also charged with keen expectation. The throng expected their now-successful Ireland team to win a qualification match against Albania.
At half time and beyond, with the score still at 0-0, the atmosphere in the pub became tense. Bobbie whispered to me that we should make a hasty exit if the match failed to go Ireland’s way.
Mercifully, Ireland scored a couple of goals in the last half-hour of the game, turning the mood into a memorably shebeen-like party, with plenty of drinking, singing and dancing, until late into the night.
Back in the day, when I didn’t look much like the bard, Bobbie and I were partial to a bit of Shakespeare.
This sounded like the real deal, with Robert Stephens as Falstaff and Michael Maloney as Hal. A little-known (at that time) actress Linda Bassett played Mistress Quickly and Adrian Noble directed the thing.
Besides, I had studied Henry IV Part One for my English ‘O’ Level, so obviously I knew what I was talking about.
We stayed in an unmemorable B&B on the edge of town. I vaguely recall a bossy (i.e. rule-laden) owner.
I think we ate good food. Fatty Arbuckle’s or Lambs, and then The Glory Hole, if I recall correctly. I’m pretty sure the latter on the Saturday night because Henry IV Part Two was so darned, back-achingly long, there was only one eatery in Stratford open that late in those days.
We suffered for our art, going to Stratford, back then.
I got to know Wendy Jacobi through my workplace, BDO Consulting. We became pals. She was on some sort of placement/exchange thing with BDO, although I recall she stuck around in the UK for a few years and actually became quite good friends with Janie once Janie and I found each other a couple of years after this short trip.
Wendy wanted to see a bit more of England and I had a yearning to see the Derbyshire peaks again, not least because my largest client tended to name a lot of its subsidiaries and initiatives after Derbyshire towns, so I had constant reminders of the place. I had happy memories of that part of England from my Keele days.
My diary is booked out for the Friday and the only thing written in it is 9.30, so I suspect that was the hour at which I picked up Wendy from her temporary digs on Shroton Street in Marylebone, just across the way from The Seashell Of Lisson Grove. As I write 30 years after the event, June 2020, I’ll be doing a FoodCycle delivery run across the way from there tomorrow – small world.
On the Friday, we stopped off to look at the light peaks and in particular Chatsworth House along the way.
But our mission was to walk the dark peaks. I don’t think we had actually booked anywhere; we just ventured in hope. Indeed we ventured to Hope. We ended up basing ourselves in Hope, at Underleigh, where I ended up again with Janie about three years later:
Wendy and I really liked Underleigh and the walking we did around there. It was to be my last walking break for some time; just three weeks later I was struck down with my multipally prolapsed discs and was hardly able to walk again for quite some time.
But my most abiding memory of this short break was a cassette that Wendy brought with her for the drive. It contained (rather poor quality) recordings of a couple of Allan Sherman albums, which I enjoyed very much. I’m sure those recordings helped to inspire my NewsRevue lyric writing career when that burgeoned a year or two later.
The earworm that really stuck in my head for that whole trip was a parody of Harry Belafonte’s song Matilda Matilda, entitled My Zelda:
Wendy and I sang it most of the way up to the dark peaks…
…and pretty much all the way back again on the Monday.
I flew from Washington DC to Boston. I recall thinking that internal flights were, in many ways, an easier option than railway journeys on that East Coast in those days. You pretty much just turned up and took the next plane, whereas the trains had been rarer beasts that required some logistical planning.
I did some touring on my own around the port and stuff that first day in Boston:
It was wicked cold in Boston. I had almost forgotten about the arctic weather I had experienced in New York (Washington DC was still warm) until I got to Boston, where it seemed, if possible, even colder. Perhaps I should have stayed away from the waterfront and the scenic views from the top of tall buildings to feel less cold.
I remember going into a music shop to buy Bobbie Scully the latest Billy Joel record – We Didn’t Start the Fire – Bobbie was a big fan of Billy Joel and the record was being played everywhere all the time while I was in the States.
The really memorable thing about buying that record for Bobbie was the reaction of a college boy type who was also in the shop, who said to me in that slightly pompous New England accent (which might be mistaken for mimicking the British accent but I think he was a genuine New Englander)…
…you don’t want to be buying that record. It’s complete crap.
No suggestion that this was an expression of his opinion about the record. It’s complete crap. Fact. Period.
It’s a gift for a friend who is especially keen on Billy Joel…
…I said…
…Oh yeh?…
…he said, in a disbelieving voice.
In truth I don’t hold that song in very high regard – not one of Joel’s best in my view, but that song always reminds me of this holiday…
…and also of Graham Robertson’s wonderful Newsrevue parody, “One Didn’t Start the Fire”, three year’s later, about the Windsor Castle fire.
An Interlude Upstate In Massachusetts
I had contacted Emma Weiss who had suggested that I join her and Betsy Brady for the evening and a stop-over in Marblehead…or was it Lynn?…
…I have a feeling that they lived in the former town and/but the municiple railway took me to the latter town. I remain irritated with myself that I didn’t keep a proper travel log for this holiday – the only extensive trip i have ever made without keeping one. I’m also irritated that I didn’t take my camera with me on this upstate Massachusetts leg of my trip.
Anyway, I do remember Emma coming to meet me from the train. I also remember Emma and Betsy giving me a brief driving tour around that part of the Massachusetts coast.
I particularly remember them showing me Salem – we had some tongue-in-cheek discussions about whether we might all be strung up in that town on account of ethnic origins and/or interesting lifestyles. We decided to dine outside Salem.
Boston was wicked cold at that time, but these towns up the Massachusetts coast were wicked colder still.
I remember having a jolly meal with Emma and Betsy, after which, having just got warm, they said it was time for us to visit a local bar…in fact I think they even use the term “pub” up there in New England.
I also recall how very cold it was at night, especially when someone opened the door to the pub. In fact, whenever someone opened said door the drinkers would ring out a chorus of:
CLOSE THE DOOR! CLOSE THAT F***ING DOOR!
Just as we were getting to the point that I thought we had warmed up and I was starting to feel nice and cosy for a pub sesh, Emma and Betsy said,
Right, that’s it. We’d better move on to the other pub now…
…at which suggestion I wondered out loud whether we really needed to go back out in the cold.
Emma and Betsy politely but firmly explained that they live in a small town and that they couldn’t possibly diss the folks in the other local pub by showing off their visitor from England in one pub but not the other.
Word of your existence will have reached the other pub some time ago now, so they’ll be wondering where we are.
Off we went to the second bar, which seemed quite similar in terms of its cosiness, unpretentiousness and friendly clientele.
Emma and Betsy might recall the names of the bars; I can add links and stuff if those hostelries are still there, which they probably still are…with many of the same locals still shouting, “close that f***ing door” on cold nights.
It was a great fun evening. Emma and Betsy were splendid hosts; it was very kind of them to provide that much hospitality to me. I have also enjoyed meeting them both since – e.g. at Michael Mainelli’s wedding, but it has been a good while since I last saw either of them.
Back To Boston, Brunch With Pady & Midge
The climax of my American road trip was an opportunity to see Pady Jalali in her new home environment of the USA. Pady is of Iranian origin but had acquired a quintessentially English accent while at school and then at Keele with us.
But just a few years in the USA had put paid to Pady’s English accent; by the autumn of 1989 she had acquired (and still has) a quintessentially New England accent.
At that time, Pady was teaching math…
…in the USA they only study a singular mathematic, whereas in the UK we study mathematics, or maths…
…at Umass in Amhurst.
Pady suggested meeting in Boston for brunch, along with her sister Midge.
The thing I especially remember about that brunch (apart from having a delightful afternoon with Pady and Midge) was the demeanour of the other diners.
Pady, Midge and I were engaged in conversation as one might expect when friends gather in a diner for a middle of the day meal.
But pretty much every other table seemed to comprise couples or small groups eating in complete silence. Some seemed to be taking some interest in eavesdropping on our conversation. Others seemed simply to be grazing, vacantly.
In those days, of course, non-conversational diners did not have hand-held gadgetry as an alternative focus for their attention. But in any case, this unengaged style of eating out was alien to me (as it had been to Pady and Midge before they migrated to the USA), although it did seem to cross the Atlantic and become part of the UK culture as well by the end of that century.
Of course we were not to be deterred from our purpose; having a good catch up and making a jolly occasion of it.
The photographic evidence suggests that beer, fags and food were all involved (I had long since given up smoking by then, but I was still enjoying beer and food).
It was really lovely to see Pady again – it had been some four years since she left England. Midge was also very good company that day.
It was a super way to end my two week visit to the States.
I’m not sure exactly when I flew back, but I have a feeling it was the Sunday night red eye and I have a feeling I went straight in to work on the Monday. I wouldn’t dream of doing that now.
Pictures from the Washington DC & Massachusetts legs of my trip (including those above but with quite a few more besides) can be seen by clicking the Flickr link below:
In the absence of a travel log, my memories of being a tourist in Washington DC are a little hazy. The photos help.
I do recall really noticing the change of temperature. DC was really quite warm still in late November, whereas the East Coast was having a rare severely cold snap, not least the white Thanksgiving I enjoyed:
I particularly recall being bowled over by the National Air and Space Museum. I remember Michael Mainelli talking it up as one of the things I really shouldn’t miss and I also remember suspecting that I would be less enamoured of such a place than he was. But when I saw the actual spacecraft and actual relics from the space missions, it was truly awe-inspiring.
…although why they are commemorating the gentlemen who first brought McDonalds to France I cannot imagine.
I cannot remember when I had dinner with Katherine Toulmin, but I think it was on that inbetween evening, after spending most of the day around the Smithsonian.
Katherine lived in Fairfax Virginia and very kindly drove in and out of Washington DC to collect me and take me home after dinner. I think we ate in Alexandria rather than Fairfax; the former having a good choice of restaurants in its old town.
I especially remember the journeys, as Katherine explained that you couldn’t avoid driving through some pretty edgy neighbourhoods. She gave me some very explicit instructions on what I should and should not do in certain circumstances. She used her central locking for a good part of the journey.
Other than that, I simply remember a very good meal and charming Virginian company.
I also remember asking Katherine to advise me on where and how I should try grits. Basically her advice was to avoid the eating of grits. But then the hotel offered grits at breakfast the next morning, so I couldn’t resist the opportunity to try them.
…and effectively “checking out” of the W70th appartment I had been lent so kindly by the super kind Wegman couple who I never met.
I think Jane drove in to the City and that it was on this occasion we dined in a Lousiana style place in Alphabet City and we then went across the water to her place in Passaic Park, New Jersey. The cunning plan, if I recall correctly, was that Newark was a suitable starting point the next day for my rail journey to Washington DC via Philadelphia and for Jane’s journey into work.
The snow had all-but disappeared by the time I visited Passaic Park, New Jersey
My research 30 years later suggest that Passaic Park is home to one of the larger ultra-orthodox Jewish communities now. I’m guessing that the neighbourhood has changed. Perhaps Jane too has changed…or more likely moved…but in any case I didn’t see much sign of ultra-orthodox Judaism during my visit.
I enjoyed my short stay “in the burbs” – thanks Jane – and I also enjoyed the rail journey from Newark to Washinton DC with a “day tripper” stop in Philadelphia on the way.
Philadelphia freedom
I did much of the stuff a tourist is supposed to do in Philadelphia…
Independence Hall
…and even found time a for a bit of shopping near the railway station before training it to Washington DC.
If I recall correctly, I had organised my digs for a couple of nights in DC through the more conventional expedient of booking a hotel room. Quite near the railway station and convenient for sightseeing. No I cannot recall the name of the Hotel.
My “crashing at a friend’s place”…or even “crashing at a friend of a friend’s place” days were coming to an end, although there was one more “crash night” on that trip – a colder, more northerly story for another day.
