Coming Home

Mrs PM and I have recently returned from a week long break in Playa Blanca, Lanzarote in the Canary Islands. We were meant to go to Malaysia but Mrs PM’s job situation scuppered that somewhat and forced us to postpone that wonderful trip until 2026. The good news is that the situation is now resolved but sadly it was too late to organise that trip to the Far East. Instead we opted for a short European trip to get some winter sun.

Whenever I am abroad, especially in winter, I barely think of Manchester. As we walked along the promenade after breakfast, listening to the Atlantic Ocean lapping up on the sandy shores and rocks, the dreadful rainy cold weather that we have to endure in February in the UK is so far from my brain that Manchester may as well be on another planet. 

Even the evenings are beautiful and clear in Lanzarote, if not a little chilly. All that means is that I have to wear long trousers instead of shorts as we dine within earshot of the waves. And talking about planets, we actually managed to see a couple of them with the naked eye. Mrs PM mentioned that the news had an article about all the planets being aligned. I love a good sunset and as we were sitting in a bar watching our star slowly descend behind the horizon, seemingly into the horizon, I used an app on my smartphone to find the planets – the app is called Sky Map and well worth a download. Here are a couple of sunset pictures I took.

Mercury was close to the sun but invisible and a bright spot nearby turned out to be Venus. As the sun disappeared and the sky became darker, other points of light in the firmament became visible and, with the aid of Sky Map, I could clearly identify Saturn, which looked a little dull compared to Venus but still there. The app also told me that just below Venus but perhaps too far away to see with the naked eye was Neptune. 

As I moves around the sky, I then identified and saw Jupiter and Uranus. Jupiter was perfectly clear and Uranus, like Saturn, was quite dull but just about visible. 

The only one I couldn’t find was Mars. 

It would have been amazing to have seen this exact sky with a telescope from the desert where there is no light pollution to shield the planets. I remember a trip to Barbados where we had a little session with an astronomer who used a telescope to find Saturn for us. That was amazing and I could even see the rings. 

On our last morning, we had a leisurely breakfast and had time to take a walk along the promenade for a coffee before having to return to the airport for our flight home. I enjoyed sitting by the ocean, listening to the waves and enjoying the clear blue skies and the sun reflecting off glistening turquoise water. 

I felt totally relaxed. 

About eight hours later we had landed at Manchester Airport and were in a cab, driving through the rainy cold streets of my home city. I looked through the rain spotted windows of the cab and the sky was dark and covered in clouds that hid any stars and planets. Part of me was disappointed and I craved sitting by the beach, stargazing while listening to the calm sea. Mrs PM was excited because she was starting her new job the following day and she was also looking forward to seeing her “babies”, that is our two domineering masters, our cats Ziggy and Star(dust).

I allowed my mind to briefly return the scene from eight hours ago, the taste of the coffee, the warm breeze, the sound of the ocean, the colours, the people. 

And then I realised that in a few moments I would be home. 

My home is my castle, the place where I feel most comfortable. It’s like my central office, even though I don’t work anymore and I love being there. My brief longing for Lanzarote gradually faded and once I had braved the rain, entered my house and unpacked, I had the chance to sit down with a cup of tea and think about my trip. Star(dust) put her two front paws on my stomach and stared at me as she purred. She then lay down next to me, clinging to my leg like a feline leech and fell asleep. Ziggy was sitting next to Mrs PM.

I then started thinking about our next trip to Malta in May, where we will be taking Mrs PM’s mum for a celebration of her 80th birthday. I will once again be beside the sea with a chance to explore Valetta. It will be warm sunny and in terms of weather, a million miles from Manchester. 

Mrs PM broke my reverie.

“I’m glad to be home,” she said. 

And, to be perfectly honest, so was I.

Sunrise, Sunset

There is nothing more relaxing that watching a beautiful sunrise or sunset. Manchester is covered with cloud most of the year so it can be difficult to see the sun at all, making it necessary for me to travel to far off exotic places to witness such splendour.

Nevertheless, I have managed to catch a glimpse of the sun rising and falling behind the horizon in my adopted home town.

I have captured a few nice sunsets and the odd the sunrise over recent years – mostly sunsets because catching a good sunrise requires getting up at the crack of dawn (something I prefer not to do on holiday).

I thought I would share a few with you. I hope you like them.

Sunrise

Sunrise in Manchester on a rare cloud-free day

Sunrise in Alaska

A beautiful sunrise in Port Douglas Australia

Sunset

A very colourful sunset in Bodrum, Turkey

The sun disappearing behind a mountain in Majorca

Still in Spain, Puerto Banus

A sunset in Sorrento, Italy

A moody sunset in Cape Cod, United States

Sunset behind a fountain in Geneva, Switzerland

Another rare cloud-free sky in Manchester

A beautiful sunset in Santorini, Greece

A fantastic sunset in Victoria, Canada

I love a good sunrise and sunset and I hope to add more to my collection.

I hope you enjoyed them.

Wind Of Change

One of the things that foreigners say about British people is that we are obsessed with the weather.

And do you know what? I think they are right.

There is a reason for this obsession – our weather in the British Isles is so crap, so unpredictable, so utterly irritating that it does make a good topic for conversation.

Take the last couple of weeks for example.

Two weeks ago we had unseasonably high temperatures in March; in fact it was the hottest March on record. We were basking in temperatures of 24°C. People throughout the United Kingdom were out in shorts and thoroughly enjoying the warm temperature.

Mrs PM and I walked into Didsbury and sat outside at a local café eating a nice early evening meal with a pint of fine ale; it had a definite continental feel to it. People were walking past in T-shirts and shorts, remarking that we were perhaps, for once, in for a great summer. Sunglasses were ubiquitous and I even heard people talking about using sun block for their kids.

In a little place called Aboyne in the northern reaches of Scotland, they too were enjoying the highest temperatures they had experienced in March.

Fast forward a few days and everything changed.

The temperatures plummeted. In Manchester, having enjoyed 24°C, we suddenly found ourselves waking up to frozen cars and days were the temperature barely scraped 4°C. A huge cloud, weighed down with snow, drifted south depositing several inches over the United Kingdom. The Pennine roads were blocked and impassable; a friend of mine who commutes from Halifax, found himself snowed in.

Aboyne, that pleasant little village in Aberdeenshire that had been basking in the sunshine, now found itself covered in six inches of snow.

And all of this happened in a few days.

Is it any surprise that we are so utterly obsessed with the weather?

The weather forecast is mandatory viewing for most Brits simply because we have no idea what on earth Mother Nature is going to dump on us.

I have in the past seen all four seasons in one day. One June many years ago, I woke up and saw that it was snowing – yes that is correct – snowing in the summer. By midday the snow had turned to rain and in the afternoon we had glorious sunshine.

The weather is that mad.

Nevertheless, we never get extremes. A comedian remarked on TV recently that our weather is rarely so extreme that it is dangerous.

We have had a hurricane – and the weather forecasters failed to predict that – so it caused havoc in the South of England. But that is a very rare event. We don't get cyclones or tornadoes.

We have had a fair temperature range though. The highest recorded temperature in the UK is 38.5 °C with the lowest being -26.1°C.

In my own personal experience, the highest temperature I have encountered in the UK was 35 °C and the lowest about -15 °C.

Of course, outside the UK I have experienced more extremes. The highest temperature I have had to endure was during August in Las Vegas, when the temperature soared to a massive 45°C. I remember the pain involved with that. Walking outside was agonizing and we hotel-hopped down the famous Las Vegas Strip, just so that we could avoid as much of the sun as possible. At one point, Mrs PM and I were waiting for a bus and wilting so much that we just dived into a cab.

Compare that with the lowest temperature I have had to endure; -20 °C in Moscow in Winter. I wore two pairs of socks and a coat that was so big that I looked like the Michelin man. It was so bad that my nose was running and the liquid snot was freezing as soon as it cleared the sanctuary of my nostrils.

And I lost my woolly hat and gloves, thankfully the day before I left. I thought my nose was going to drop off.

We rarely get such extremes in the UK and I am thankful for that. Yes, we have to put up with bizarre weather, damp weather, cloudy dull days, foggy mornings, snow, and rainy summers.

It will be amusing to discover what the British weather has in store for us when the Olympics come to London later this year.

But on those days in late spring, summer and early autumn, when the weather decides to become seasonal and stable and the sun shines on our lovely countryside, with blue skies and big fluffy white clouds, I realise why I love being in Britain.

I still take a coat and an umbrella with me though – because you never know.

It Only Takes A Minute

Last week I arrived back home from a holiday in Bodrum, Turkey.

In Turkey I was happy.

In Turkey I was relaxed.

On Wednesday I went to work. I logged in and opened my emails and found approximately one gazillion of the bloody things all of which were fighting each other for my attention.

It took a minute for me to succumb to stress. It took another minute for the anger bug to bite me on the arse.

It was as if I hadn’t been away at all. Sitting there at my desk I found myself pining for the sunshine, begging for the beach and missing those lazy days by the pool.

One day I shall dwell on why my job pisses me off but for this post, I shall endeavour to be positive and reminisce about our holiday.

I had never been to Turkey before so I was really excited about visiting a new country. I would have preferred to have travelled around a little and experienced the less commercial aspects of the country but both Mrs PM and I were in desperate need of a lot of rest and relaxation. The lure of the tourist traps, beaches, swimming pools and sunshine were too much to bear.

I won’t bore you with the daily details of our holiday but I will emphasize some of the more memorable experiences (well as memorable as a week long package holiday by the sea can allow).

Here are some of the highlights:

(1) Our hotel was full of Turks so we were spared the usual British home from home experience that a lot of my compatriots feel they need to make their holiday special. Barely a word of English was spoken, allowing us to get a small taste of being in a foreign land. The Turkish holiday makers were keen to have fun though and the pool area was a hive of activity with Turkish holiday reps dragging people up to perform silly dances, sing silly songs and generally have fun. We watched with amusement as the reps performed a Turkish song similar to Agadoo with a comparable silly dance. Mrs PM was tempted to join in but resisted at the last minute.

(2) It was hot – very hot – bordering on being too hot. Our hotel was at the top of a hill and on the first day we embarked on a massive walk exploring the local town before climbing the hill back to our hotel when we had had enough. We ended up slightly lost and the hill was extremely steep. By the time we found our way to the hotel we were both almost dead. Mrs PM almost threw up and I flopped onto a chair in the hotel bar, barely able to say “water”. We sat there for twenty minutes sipping water supplied by a very kind barman with sweat pouring off our bodies. We decided that we would take taxis from that point on.

(3) Turkey is the first Muslim country I have visited and at one point we were enjoying the sunset over Bodrum Harbour when the signal for prayers came from the local mosque. I was fascinated by this. Turkey seems to be quite relaxed when it comes to religion and while there might be a few devout Muslims, most people carried on with their business.

(4) The food was brilliant. I had to try a Donner Kebab and it arrived, sizzling on a hotplate. It was wonderful. Turks love their food and I was very impressed with the cuisine generally. There wasn’t a single meal that I didn’t enjoy.

(5) Turkish men are very friendly and very forward, particularly with women. On the first night we were enticed into an open air bar and within five minutes a waiter had demonstrated to me how Turkish men greet each other. He kissed me on each cheek (he needed a shave) and within seconds he was holding Mrs PM’s hands and hugging her. He offered free drinks to the “young, romantic and sexy couple”. Mrs PM loved the attention but I wondered whether he was very short sighted, describing me as “sexy”. We were offered free shooters in this bar and a few others too. Thankfully we were fairly sensible about it and only had a mild hangover the next day (not a good idea in the heat). Most restaurants and bars we visited were similar with the waiters and owners offering us various things “on the house” (like Apple Tea, Raki and even a small fish in one place). Wonderful hospitality.

(6) A couple of the friendly waiters were quite surprised to discover that I was forty eight years old. One guy in particular said I looked about thirty two. What a charmer he was.

(7) We embarked upon a boat trip that was extremely good fun. There was “free beer” available but it was so weak that I stuck to coke. The food, however, was very good and we were able to plunge off the boot into the Aegean Sea to cool down. The highlight was watching the Turkish crew performing their traditional Turkish dancing on the top deck of the boat while other passing boats watched with a mixture of fascination and enjoyment. A very nice day.

Our original plan had been to see some of the local sights, particularly places like Ephesus. Sadly after the first day we decided that it was simply too hot to spend six hours travelling to the place and another three hours walking around. In a sense, I’m glad for two reasons.

First, it gave me a chance to really relax, spending days by the pool, reading, listening to music and swimming.

Second, it gives us an excuse to go back. The next time we go, our destination will be somewhere closer to Ephesus or Izmir. It also makes sense to go when it is a little cooler, perhaps in May or September.

I am quite excited at the prospect of visiting Istanbul also – perhaps that’s yet another trip.

To summarise, Turkey is a great place. It is relatively cheap, very friendly, as excellent food and there is a lot to see and do.

I would recommend it.

Now then, I have to make inroads into this huge heap of jobs that have piled up.

If you can read the future, dear reader, and are willing to share next week’s lottery numbers with me I would be most grateful. In the meantime I shall post a few photos on my photo blog when I get round to it.

Still, every cloud has a silver lining - we're off to Ibiza in a few weeks - and I can't wait!

The Grilled Mancunian

I’ve been cooked several times in my life and I’m bloody sick of it.

Having blond hair and fair skin is seen by some as a blessing. Phrases like “blonds have more fun” may give the impression that we are rampant extroverts with a party animal mentality and can make any social occasion memorable.

Unfortunately the truth of the matter is that blonds are cursed. I won’t even begin to discuss the common myth that blond people are stupid. You’ve all heard the jokes:

How do you make a blond’s eyes twinkle? Shine a torch in their ear.

Actually, blond jokes are geared towards airhead blond women (at least that’s what people telling blond jokes tell me) so I like to think that people don’t consider me to be stupid just because of the colour of my hair.

How are we cursed then?

We are basically allergic to the sun (well excessive sun at least).

So does that make us vampires? In a way, it does. I’m not saying that I am an evil undead monster who sleeps in a coffin all day and then marauds around at night, attacking young female virgins and bleeding them dry. Last time I checked, a cross didn’t burn my skin and the closest I get to drinking blood is when I have a medium rare steak. Besides, I quite like garlic.

The sun has a similar effect on my skin as it does on your average vampire. I don’t burst into flames and crumble into ash. However I do cook, albeit very, very slowly.

When I was young, like most stupid youths, I considered myself to be indestructible. I would jump around like an idiot, climbing trees, throwing myself off walls and leaping into water from great heights. I was a moron (okay maybe I was a true blond in those days). And I actually thought that I could spend a whole day in the sun without getting sunburnt.

The first time I remember being cooked, I was on holiday in Bala, a lovely little town on the edge of Bala Lake in mid Wales. I was eighteen and four of us were discovering the glory of alcohol and more importantly freedom from our parents. It was my first real holiday with them and I was ready to take the next stupid step.

On that fateful day, we drove to the lake and hired a boat. It was a gloriously sunny day and, being a complete and utter bonehead, I chose to sail on the lake without a shirt. I still don’t know why I did this. Even my mates suggested that perhaps I should wear a T shirt. I wouldn’t mind but my physique wasn’t exactly worthy of parading to other sailors. I was so skinny that I resembled a living skeleton. Arnold Schwarzenegger I wasn’t.

What was I hoping to achieve? If any young women had seen my bony body they would have either fled in disgust or called an ambulance. Either that or tried to play me like a glockenspiel.

I stepped onto that boat looking like a milk bottle. I stepped off it, three hours later, looking like a strawberry milkshake with a blob of chaotic cream on top.

I burned really badly. When I pulled on my T shirt, I screamed like a little girl. There were tears in my eyes as we travelled back to the cottage. I didn’t sleep a wink for the entire night. My whole upper body felt as if it was infested by tiny microscopic devils pummelling my skin with pneumatic pins.

Worse was to come. I came to terms with my stupidity, thinking that the red skin would gradually become brown. It’s not so bad, I thought. At least in a week or two I will look like a tanned hunk and the girls will throw themselves at me.

Wrong!

My red skin began to peel. Having never seen this phenomenon before, I began to panic. My dad reassured me saying that it would be all over soon (as he struggled not to laugh). It was as if I was covered in layer upon layer of cling film. I peeled off great swathes of skin. I could have made curtains for the whole street out the skin. There was almost enough to create another human being. One time, I pulled skin off my entire torso and arms like a jumper.

As the initial pain diminished, it was replaced by a terrible itch all over the exposed and grilled area. I scratched and scratched and ripped off handfuls of skin. It was horrific – just like the incredible melting man. You’ve seen “The Fly” with Jeff Goldblum? That was a picnic compared to me.

And what was the colour of my skin after I had shed more coats than a rampant snake? You've guessed it - white!

Since then I have been very careful. I love to travel to very warm and sunny places and laze on the beach; now I sit in the shade and cover any exposed bits of my body in factor 3 million sun block.

Many people ask me why I bother going to hot places if I come back looking like a ghost. I love sitting in the shade watching people, reading, listening to music; the only difference is that I don’t have skin like leather with more wrinkles than a ninety year old man. My fair skin makes me look younger than my years and I am often mistaken for a man in his mid-thirties.

That said, I have accidentally been grilled a few times.

At the Monsters of Rock festival a few years ago, I foolishly neglected to take a bottle of sun block. As I watched the various rock bands, I was unaware that I was gradually roasting in the sun. The only problem was that the sun was constantly on my right hand side, so I acquired a rather lopsided burn; the right hand side of my face was red raw as was my right arm. My left hand side was milky white.

I looked utterly ridiculous for weeks.

Another time I was caught out was at a cricket match in Manchester. The sun was intense and I burned quite badly. I was wearing sunglasses and when I returned home, I looked at myself in the mirror; a red and white panda stared back at me.

Even though I am proud that I have milky white, fair skin that has preserved a semblance of youth, I am envious of those who simply look at the sun for seconds and turn a lovely bronze colour. In my youth it always seemed to me that bronzed men attracted the best women; of course in my case bronze skin probably wouldn’t help because a bronze baboon isn’t the most attractive beast on the planet.

So what is the worst place to fry? Well in my experience, the backs of the legs is a pretty nasty place because you simply cannot sit down. On one occasion I burned the bottoms of my feet – that was very unpleasant.

But the worst place? Well I’ll leave it to your imagination but suffice it to say I am glad that I am not a naturist.