It’s A Life

Born in October 1952 on the day tea rationing ended in Britain (good timing that, given my mother’s obsession – and subsequently mine – with the brew) and, as an only child, I enjoyed a happy childhood, revolving mainly around football and cricket.  I had the good fortune of growing up during the sixties, the music of which provided a thrilling soundtrack to my that period.

I attained a BA (Honours) in English and European Literature at Essex University, writing my dissertation on the novel At Swim-Two-Birds by Irish novelist and journalist Flann O’Brien.  This was followed by studying towards an MA in Anglo-Irish Literature at Leeds, majoring on James Joyce, Samuel Beckett and W.B.Yeats, including writing a treatise on the novels of Patrick Kavanagh (The Green Fool and Tarry Flynn).

Eventually, I exchanged academia – via portering in a major department store and “making” sultana cookies and other exotic (for the time) biscuits – for the last refuge of the modern scoundrel and joined the UK civil service in March 1980.  I subsequently spent 29 years in the Department for Work and Pensions and its many antecedents, latterly in human resources and diversity before poaching early retirement in March 2009.

My interest in the subject led me to undertake a Level 3 BTEC Advanced Certificate in Travel and Tourism via home learning.  I completed the course in December 2010, achieving a Distinction in all three elements – understanding the travel and tourism industry, tourist destinations and tour operations.  My ambition now is to concentrate on writing and, hopefully, to publish on a regular basis.  I have been focusing principally on my passions of San Francisco, cricket and travel, though I am not able to resist on pontificating on life in general from time to time.

This blog has now been active for nearly two and a half years. But I want to do more than that. At present, I am in the final throes of co-writing a book on the centenary of Kent County Cricket Club’s fourth County Championship title in eight years, and future writing projects include a series of short stories based in San Francisco and an expansion of our U.S. road trip diary of September / October last year.

Aside from the above topics, my other serious interests are walking, skiing, baseball (a fan from afar of the San Francisco Giants), association football (a life long fan of Gillingham), music (principally folk, blues, country and West Coast rock borne of the original Summer of Love in 1967), going to the theatre and eating out.

I feel extremely grateful to have the health and energy to pursue all of those interests, as I am also for the support and encouragement of my wonderful wife Janet whom I married in Vegas on Halloween 2009 after 27 years together (that makes it 31 now!).

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The Blog Speaks!

Please allow me to introduce myself – no, I’m not a ”man of wealth and taste” but Blog – and I have been “around for a long, long year”. To be precise, I am one year and 100 posts old today. To celebrate this momentous event, the guy who usually drones on at you has finally seen sense and handed it over to me to share my thoughts on how well those 12 months have gone (or not as the case may be). 

You may have gathered if you read his last post that he’s feeling quite pleased with himself. Being naturally indolent, even he didn’t think he would ever reach this point. But, with my staunch, cheery support, he has, so I won’t begrudge him some credit for that.

Our relationship has been tense, sometimes tetchy, but we’ve muddled through. My main gripe is that he’s not consistent enough in the frequency with which he puts me to work. After a steady, manageable start he then launched into 24 days straight posting on his spring vacation. That might have been fun for him, swanning around Tahoe, Vegas and San Francisco, but it wore me out I can tell you. It was difficult enough acclimatising to an 11 hour flight and 8 hour time change, but then expecting me to work beyond midnight over an extended period was adding insult to injury. A trip to the blog tribunal was on the cards at that point.

But then he followed it with a very leisurely timetable – only 18 posts in 5 months during the summer. Admittedly, some of the articles were much longer, especially those on his beloved cricket (I really don’t understand the fascination at all myself), but it did leave me with a lot of time on my hands. Mind you, every cloud as they say, I was able to freelance on the off days, though don’t tell him – he places a lot of store by loyalty.

And then there’s the language he uses. Personally, I find it a trifle flowery, even pompous on occasions. But with a grammar school education and 30 years in the civil service behind him, he dosen’t stand much chance does he? He thinks he’s funny too – gimme a break! He really needs to work this year on getting the balance right between being informative, interesting and entertaining.  

I must admit I prefer his factual posts, y’know those about San Franciscan characters, to his ruminations on life and cricket (he seems to think the last two are the same thing!). I sometimes find the latter more embarassing than enlightening with their wistful, elegiac tone (he told me to use those particular words, God knows what they mean). 

I just hope he’ll revert to the San Francisco stuff more in the future. He’s promised to do so, so let’s hope he lives up to that – though once the cricket season raises its coy head in April, I doubt he’ll be able to contain his dewy-eyed sentimentality, and start blathering on again about the rhythm of the day’s play and the strategic importance of the tea interval and other such drivel.

Something else that bugs me – these writers continually bang on about the “block”, and how they suffer from it from time to time. I just don’t geddit  -what IS their problem?  Despite what I said earlier, I’m ready to perform 24/7 so why can’t they be?  

I believe he’s announced to you that he plans to alter my design and layout.  Now, I’m a simple chap, so I just hope he doesn’t try to turn me into a look-alike of those appalling Grateful Dead tie-dye shirts he is so beloved of.  I’m quite comfortable in my current skin, thank you.

He’s not that hot actually on the technical aspects, as you may have noticed by his use of photographs at times. But I have bitten my lip in the expectation that the penny will drop soon (I really don’t understand why he doesn’t take my advice on including more clichés in his articles).

He doesn’t read enough either and if he has pretensions to being a serious writer, he needs to step up his game on this.  I don’t hold out much hope, therefore, that he’ll bother to look at this post, let alone take on board my concerns (he’s never asked my opinion before now). Perhaps, dear reader, you could be my advocate and tell him in your comments on individual articles. But treat him gently – he’s a sensitive soul beneath the wisecracking exterior.

So what does the future hold? Well, for all that he frustrates and irritates me at times, I’m prepared to stick around for another year. After all, it’s “the nature of my game”.

I think I’ve probably upset him enough already, and abused the privilege of this audience with you, so I had better give it a rest now.  Besides, I don’t want him dumping me for a younger, fresher model - times are hard and ”better the devil you know” has always been my motto. And I do quite fancy another spring break out west, not to mention a trip around the national parks in October, if he can get his act together and organise them.

I don’t suppose that I’ll get the chance to talk to you again in the near future, unless you place a comment at the bottom of the page (that’s a hint, right?), so I’ll sign off with a Happy New Year!

Ooh, who, who!

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99 Not Out

I am writing this, my 99th post, on the day before the first anniversary of my blog. Around 65,000 words have soiled the screen since New Year’s Eve 2010 when I embarked, belatedly and anxiously, on this expedition (a word I prefer to that ubiquitous ”journey” that every reality TV contestant and sportsperson seem to be on nowadays).

The birthday and century will be rung up tomorrow, fittingly, whilst I reside in the northern English town of Lancaster where it all started, though the blog has been half way around the world in that time – well, Barcelona, Northern France, San Francisco, Las Vegas, Lake Tahoe and the length and breadth of the UK.

I thought I should take the opportunity here to reflect upon the success or otherwise of my efforts over the past 12 months.  Although you’re burdened with my voice today, I have arranged for a guest writer to offer their own unique insights in tomorrow’s centenary post – of which more later.

In only my second post – This Writing Lark - I stated my aim was to produce “worthwhile written work that others might enjoy”.  I hope that I have succeeded in this, at least some of the time (“you can’t please all of the people…..”), and the comments, such as they have been, have certainly been positive. But I need to engage with my readers more if I am to build a significant platform for my work.  I have plans to ensure that this happens, courtesy of the advice from Kristen Lamb, Anne R. Allen and other luminaries on the blogging scene. 

As I indicated in my recent posts entitled Blogging versus Writing and Yes!!!! I AM a Writer it is only now that I am beginning to feel like a writer.  Ideas for posts present themselves more readily than before, especially than in the summer months when, to be fair, the distractions were greater. I now need rather then just want to write.

So what will the New Year bring? I will blog at least twice a week, essentially on the same subjects that have filled it this year, including the resurrection of the San Francisco themed features, and engage in much more comment and discussion with other bloggers than I have managed before.  Twitter and, to a lesser extent, Facebook, will complete my social networking activity.

But 2012 will be different – as I had always planned – in that I now intend to focus on other forms of writing than the blog.  In addition to submitting work to relevant publications I will also be dipping my toe in the competition waters.  Finally, and by no means least, I will be working on more substantial, long term projects, once I have clarified to my own satisfaction which of those should take precedence (or whether they should be tackled concurrently). 

One palpable change that I intend to make is in the design of the blog.  The current theme has served me well, and whilst it does fulfill the basic requirements – clear and well organised – it is a little dull.  I think a funkier image is necessary, so I will be researching the increasing range of WordPress themes to find the one that fits best.  I won’t rush into this, and it is possible my conclusion might still be to retain the current one, but, equally, don’t be surprised if you receive a more colourful greeting when you visit in the New Year.   

Before I sign off, I’d like to thank WordPress for making the task of designing and writing on the blog much less onerous than I had feared, as well as my friend Pete who recommended the platform in the first place – that was inspired advice. 

I will now leave you in the less predictable hands of my guest writer for the centenary blog, namely “Blog” himself (at least I think it’s a he), who will be offering his own idiosyncratic opinions on the past 12 months. 

I’ll see you again in the first post of 2012. Happy New Year!

Now, how do I get rid of that falling snow over the Golden Gate Bridge!

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Western Diary Day 10: Retrieving my Heart

For the second day running I feel I need to preface my account of the day with a statement.  A number of people have expressed sympathy and regret about the disappointing nature of both the Tahoe, and particularly Vegas, legs of our trip.  I am grateful for that, but they really should not worry.  I hope that by the tone of my reports, they detect a certain measure of irony and gallows humour, and, after all, this blog would have been very boring if everything went smoothly wouldn’t it? And, on occasions, I have exaggerated a little for dramatic effect, which I think is defensible.

As my “fellow Californians” would say – it’s all good.

We met Janet’s parents for breakfast in the hotel before bidding them adieu and heading off to McCarran Airport for our 1.05 Virgin America flight to San Francisco.

After checking in at around 11.30am, and paying $25 each for our two large cases, we proceeded to security (Janet had to endure the screening booth whilst I breezed through the traditional barrier!) to the gate.  There were a handful of delays, though all – bar one – did quote an estimated time.  Yes, the one exception was ours, “possible weather delay”, later described by the captain as “one small cloud in the Bay Area”.  It was rather like waiting for a Southeastern train back home –  no information whatsoever until an announcement to say we were boarding.  Anyway, we left exactly an hour late, around a quarter of which we recouped on the journey.  

Although, as regulars on Virgin Atlantic, we were disappointed with the pre-flight service of its American cousin, the in-flight service was better than that we had experienced with Southwest (though there was not a lot wrong with that) between Reno Tahoe and Vegas.  The flight was a little more relaxed with seating that was more comfortable.  Furthermore, there was a decent,mini version of the Virgin in-flight  entertainment system. 

A day couldn’t pass at present, howver, without some minoir catastrophe befalling one of us.  On arriving at SFO we were directed to bagage claim number 9 which appeared to be nothing more than a locked cupboard.  After around a quarter of an hour a Virgin representative breathlessly rushed onto the scene, profusely apologising for the delay, and opening the cupboard to reveal a small baggage claim area.  In the excitement, and seeing our bags about to escape my grasp and begin yet another lap of the carousel, I lunged for them only to slam my shin against a solid metal block sticking out of the conveyor belt.  Whilst it was very painful at the time, and exposed a bloody gash, I thought no more of it until I was changing my trousers at the apartment a couple of hours later, when I discovered that it was not only badly bruised but had blown up to the size of an adam’s apple.  Fortunately, as I write this, virtually 24 hours later, antiseptic cream, plasters and rest have reduced the swelling dramatically, and I experience only mild discomfort rather than any pain.

I am trying to keep my rants to a minimum today, but collecting the hire car we had booked and already paid for was the usual battle to hold on to our money against a concerted attack to prise it from us.  Every time we travel to Tahoe we are urged to upgrade to a four wheel drive because an alleged storm is on its way, even when the forecast, in the past, has been for fine weather.  Today, we were pressed to upgrade the compact car, despite explaining that we had purposely booked a small vehicle because the garage space at the apartment could accommodate nothing bigger.  Equally, it was suggested that we buy personal items and passenger insurances, despite the fact we had already had them.

We found the apartment easily enough at 5.30pm and had no difficulties gaining entry and parking the car.  We had expected, from both the written details and photographs, a spacious and fully equipped home, but it immediately surpassed even those expectations.  I will write much more in subsequent days about its features and facilities, but surpass to say that we are already thrilled.  By the time we had gone to bed I had carried out our first shopping expedition to the local Lucky supermarket, which I was also pleasantly surprised by, completed the previous day’s blog on the PC supplied by the owners and “cooked” our dinner of lobster ravioli with roasted garlic sauce (plus two bottles of wine, of course).  Janet had done all the washing that had acccumulated in Tahoe and Vegas (we could be clean once again!), and we had watched three episodes of Celebrity Apprentice on the 40 inch digital TV.  

The rants are / may / should (delete as applicacble) be over - San Francisco has opened up its Golden Gate and returned our hearts!  And after a wet weekend, the sunshine is going to arrive with a vengeance!

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Western Diary Day 9: That Dam(n) Tour and miscellaneous rants

Before I start today’s diary I feel I need to apologise in advance to any of my American readers who might be offended by comments I make in it.  I have great affection and respect for the American people but this was just one of those days where everything that annoys me about the country happened, fittingly when the “word of the day”, as you will discover was “dam” (without the “n”).

Our second and final full day in Vegas was largely taken up with an organised tour of the Hoover Dam and luxury cruise on Lake Mead.  We boarded the feeder bus from our hotel at 8.30am and proceeded to the Grand Canyon Airport in Boulder City where, before we were let off the bus, a tour guide tried to sell us a cut-price helicopter flight over the Grand Canyon as an add-on to our pre-booked activities.  Only in America can someone try to sell you something else before you have even started to take advantage of the thin for which you have already paid.  Admittedly, it was a good price though we declined as we had done it before.

Check-in was efficient and friendly, but it was a full forty minutes before the tour finally began, not least because we were directed to the gift shop first (another brazen money making ploy).  Have you noticed also how every ride in an American theme park ends in the gift shop?  And I shouldn’t forget the obligatory group photo, yet another opportunity to rip you off.  To be fair, we have occasionally bought the photo package (usually an assortment of different size prints and key rings), but we resisted it twice today – at the airport and Lake Mead – as well as at the shows on the previous evenings.

Eventually, two hours after we had boarded the first coach, we were on the way to the Hoover Dam, each passenger proudly displaying a coloured  (blue, red or yellow) sticker on their chest denoting which tour they were on and, therefore, how much they had paid.  Our driver for the day was extremely knowledgable, a cynic might say a know all, but his constant use of the word “dam”, witty at first, grated after the fiftieth time.  We had 2 hours 20 minutes at the Dam, most of which was taken up with an escorted group tour which I for one, not being remotely engineeringly minded, found rather tedious if undeniably awe inspiring.  The highlight of our stay came when we were set free to wander around with our cameras taking photos of the Dam and the highest road bridge in the United States.    

The coachload was then separated into its respective coloured groupings for lunch.  Whilst the majority were treated to casino fare, we began our “luxury” cruise on Lake Mead with a sumptuous repast of ham or turkey roll, chips or potato salad and an apple or orange, washed down by a non-alcoholic drink.  It only seemed appropriate in the circumstances that I should decide to pay an extra six dollars for a pre-prepared pina colada (which was actually quite refreshing). 

The cruise, which lasted an hour and a half and took us as close as we were permitted to the Hoover Dam, was very relaxing, though the biting wind rendered trips up on deck to take photos short and challenging.  Disappointingly, the position of the sun at the time also scuppered shots of the Dam itself.  Nonetheless, it was generally enjoyable, though I still can’t get the picture of the mother on the table next to us checking her young son’s hair for nits whilst we were partaking of our banquet, or of the young girl who devoured two enormous burgers, out of my mind.   

The final part of the tour was a brief visit to Ethel M’s Chocolate Factory and tour of the adjacent cactus garden.  We returned to our hotel at 6pm.

Ever since we first visited it in March 2008 we have made Toby Keith’s I Love This Bar & Grill in Harrah’s Las Vegas is one of our essential things to do in Vegas, irrespective of the length of our stay.  Good, wholesome southern style food is served in the restaurant and the adjacent bar is lively and good natured.  The house DJ plays the latest country tunes during the breaks in the performance of the nightly live bands, and numerous TV screens showing country music videos, many by Keith himself, are located throughout the establishment. 

After a 45 minute wait for our table the meal was as enjoyable as ever (Janet had chicken and I had catfish), the Whisky Girl cocktails which seem to contain around half a dozen measures of Jack Daniel’s, were equally typically potent and delicious, and the service by the “hottie” waitress was excellent.

But apart from that, the atmosphere was very different to what we had enjoyed on our previous visits.  The DJ played very few recognisably country tunes (Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl?), the periodic free shots dispensing interludes were accompanied by what sounded like a rap version of The Birdie Song rather than I Love This Bar, the band played competent southern, country tinged, rock and the TV screens, rather than celebfrating the country theme, were showing wall to wall college basketball – like thousands of others around town!

And finally, revellers who were only drinking were continually sitting at restaurant tables whilst others, including ourselves, were expected to wait for those same tables.  And some of those were asked to leave whilst others weren’t.  A very depressing experience, and one that convinced me finally that it was time to have a rest from Vegas for a few years (though that’s not to deny that we enjoyed the vast majority of our stay).

The irritations of the day didn’t end there.  On returning to our hotel at midnight my  room key wouldn’t work! This necessitated our traipsing down to reception where we were lectured by a female robot at reception that we shouldn’t keep the close next to  credit cards and mobile phones (which we hadn’t) before being given a replacement.  And, to cap the evening’s entertainment, as I walked away she droned “have a great day”!!!!!!

And, believe it or not, I will be so glad to get away from those damn slot machines and return to civilisation (California Here I Come)!!!!!

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Western Diary Day 8: Here Comes the Sun

At last, undiluted sunshine as we woke on our first full day in Vegas, although the deaths of movie icon Elizabeth Taylor and English cricketer Fred Titmus cast a cloud over the morning.  

This was our third trip to Vegas in the past 16 months and fourth in 3 years, so, with a show booked for this evening and a full day tour tomorrow, we decided just to spend the day strolling the Strip.  Required to collect our Cirque de Soleil “Viva Elvis” show tickets from the Aria box office at midday we had a late breakfast there whilst we waited.  We walked as far as Tropicana Avenue, returning on the other side of Las Vegas Boulevard.

We stopped for a beer outside Planet Hollywood where, at Pink’s, I also partook of a veggie hot dog with cheese (why are they, on the rare occasions you can find them, so much smaller than the “meat” ones?).  By this time, around 2.30pm, the sun was at its most powerful.  Although we were in the same state as the one we had left the previous day, we could have been on another continent and in a different hemisphere.

With spring break still in full swing the sidewalks were full, not just with tourists and people trying to thrust in your hands cards advertising call girls and adult shows, but with numerous celebrities, including around a dozen assorted Elvises, ranging from the ages of 25 and 60 and weighing between 140 and 250 pounds.  In addition, we could have had our photograph taken with such diverse characters as the Fantastic Four, Elmo, Freddy Kruger, Marilyn Monroe and Spiderman.  We also passed beggars with placards inscribed with several variations on the “homeless and hungry” theme, the most interesting of which was “we’re not in Oregon anymore Toto”.

Meeting Janet’s parents at 5pm we had dinner in Treasure Island before getting a taxi to the Aria for the show.  Sad to report but neither of our cabbies this evening had opinions on any subject other than other road users – they were plain nice guys, nothing more.

The show was terrific, more, understandably, given the subject matter, a variety show with exuberant, high energy dance routines than the gymnastic extravaganza of other Cirque de Soleil shows that we have seen, although the athletic performances were no less spectacular for that.   The merging of big screen clips from Elvis’s life  and performances with the excellent singers, musicians and dancers in the company worked very well.  If you’re in Vegas or the show visits your town I would unhestitatingly recommend it.

Following drinks and another break even session on the penny slots, we returned to our room where I intended to complete the previous day’s blog.  The same issue with accessing the wireless network that I had experienced before resurfaced, but my frustration was mollified by the excellent IT support person in the hotel fixing the problem.  I went to sleep satisfied that I had avoided missing my deadline for the first time on the vacation.

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Western Diary Day 7: We’re goin’ to Vegas baby!

Hardly a “bluebird day”as the locals call a blue sky and sunny prospect, but the weather augured better for a great day’s skiing (another 3-4 inches of snow overnight),but we were leaving town for warmer climes. The benign conditions meant there  were no delays on our outward journey up the lake and through the Carson Valley to Reno Tahoe Airport.  Arriving on time, and nearly three and a half hours before our Southwest flight to Vegas, we enquired whether we might be able to get an earlier flight.  However, we decided to relax and have lunch at the airport on learning that transfer to the 12.25pm flight would cost us $91 each. We weren’t that desperate to get to Sin City! 

This gave me the opportunity to write the previous day’s blog over a coffee -  a bonus as I had doubted whether, once in Vegas and with a show booked for tonight, it might prove beyond me.  But 1,000 words and less than an hour later, it was foisted on an unsuspecting world.

We had lunch at Brew Brothers – another tradition on these trips, though there wasn’t anywhere else to have a full meal – Janet had a chicken and apple salad whilst I had a veggie burger with mushrooms and fries, plus wine of course.

We proceeded through security and took our seats on the 2.05pm flight. I never cease to be amazed by internal US flights – the matter of fact but organised security and boarding arrangements, the desultory safety demonstration once on board and the sheer energy of the three person cabin crew in carrying out all their duties on the 75 minute flight, taking refreshment orders, preparing and serving them and then clearing them away for 137 passengers.

Janet and I were almost the last people to board the plane, so were inevitably separated.  Janet ended up on the front row, enabling her to disembark first, but not until she had had to endure a journey squashed by the two 20 plus stone and fragrantly challenged women next to her.  By contrast, four rows back I was able to start my blog and enjoy great views of both Red Rock Canyon and the Las Vegas Strip, the latter so dreary by day but dazzling by night.

The captain was a wisecracker, though when he proclaimed “Go Phillies” as we landed, I could not resist calling out above the laughter ” Giants – Champions”! And they still let me off the plane!

Collecting our baggage and walking straight away into a taxi - a clear indication of how slow business is in Vegas at present –  meant we were checking in at Treasure Island a mere 35 minutes after we had touched down, and that was despite the cab driver taking us on a tour of Southern Nevada before dropping us off.  We secured a strip room, and although I had initial difficulties connecting with the hotel’s wireless network, we were “good to go”.

We met Janet’s parents, who had arrived the day before on a ten day vacation to celebrate her father’s eightieth birthday (they are veterans of American travel), and had dinner at Kahunaville in the hotel before taking a taxi to the Rio All-Star Suites and Casino for the Penn and Teller show.

Now they are hugely talented guys and deliver some amazing tricks.  However, and I am being deliberately provocative here, there was something unsatisfying and irritating about the show.  It may have been Penn’s rapid, and sometimes incomprehensible, patter or his repeated protestations about how their act is more honest and decent than others in their field, notably professed psychics whom they dismiss as frauds.  But, as I said, I am probably being too picky here, and there is no doubting that Teller is a great clown in the mute tradition.

It is commonly felt that, with the only possible exception of London cabbies, New York taxi drivers are the most opinionated on the planet.  Now, if you put one in charge of a cab in Vegas, the effect is likely to be explosive.  Yes, we had the doubtful privilege of being escorted back to our hotel by the craziest New York Italian taxi driver imaginable.  

After he had asked me which part of Australia I came from he launched into a scattergun tirade on a variety of subjects such as Middle East politics, the glory of Tony Blair compared to the catastrophic presidency of Bill Clinton, who had (apparently) spent his entire period in office engaging in extra curricular activities, and his affection for the former New York Giants baseball team.  Keeping his eye on the road was secondary, as the number of pedestrians hurling themselves out of his way and the exasperation expressed by other road users demonstrated.     

Finally, yes you guessed it, the penny slots – initial success followed by setbacks, but a break even session overall.  The theory still holds – just.

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Western Diary Day 4: Janet falls over (again) and Tony gets lost

We woke to learn that the snow had left over a foot of fresh powder on the mountain (nearby Sugarbowl had had 32 inches overnight!), and that today would see a brief respite in the relentless wave of storm systems hitting the west of the country during March.

Although it was snowing and visibility was poor when we set out, leaving both the lake and mountain invisible, breaks in the clouds brought a surprising and prolonged spell of sunshine from late morning onwards. Occasional “wind holds” aside on lifts on the upper levels of the mountain, the majority of the ski terrain remained open, including the all-important gondola in the middle of the village.  The fresh, dry, soft snow which had fallen on the groomed surface meant that appreciable bumps developed on all trails as skiers and riders turned over it.  The term “powder day” was rarely more relevant in our experience.

That said, the day’s skiing was hardly uneventful.  Firstly, Janet contrived to fall twice whilst standing still  – that’s now three nil to me!  But I didn’t exactly cover myself with glory either.  Returning from the Nevada side of the mountain at 1pm we resolved to head down the run that led directly into the new Tamarack mountain restaurant for lunch.

However, if you miss the left fork leading to the restaurant, and the gondola alongside it, you find yourself hurtling towards the farther California side of the mountain, with no way back other than by negotiating a time-consuming and frustrating return via a series of long trails and lifts, taking you back into Nevada - and that’s if the latter are operational (which, at the time I needed them, was the case).    

And that is what this idiot did, leaving Janet waiting outside the restaurant wondering where I had disappeared to.  As I had perpetrated the same felony only last year, she soon worked out what had happened to me, and had the good sense to wait there whilst I reacquainted myself with most of the mountain before being reunited with her over an hour and a half later.  My legs had started to tire BEFORE I embarked upon the additional marathon journey, so I was mighty relieved to see her waving to me at the bottom of the run!

But that wasn’t the only indignity I suffered – staggering back to the gondola for the ride back to the village my saloppettes (ski pants to the unitiated) fell down, revealing the three layers (thermals, tights and underpants) beneath.  Fortunately, Janet may have been the only witness, and it certainly raised her spirits after the long, frustrating vigil at the restaurant.  At least it proved that I had lost weight from last year!

Lunch at Wolfgang Puck’s cafe in the village was highly welcome =- and very late, thanks to this author.  After the customary late afternoon siesta, we roamed the casino and village shops before having dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe in Harvey’s casino.  Good food, great music, delicious margaritas and  friendly service – it is not difficult to see how it long outlasted Planet Hollywood.

I’ll finish with a tip for those wanting to have fun and win each time they hit the casinos - play the penny slots!  Ok, it’ll take a few thousand years for you to become a millionaire, but you’re just about guaranteed to win every time.  Janet and I only discovered them at the Bellagio in Vegas last year when they paid for several rounds of drinks at the bar.  Tonight we walked away with $70 from a $30 stake – that’s 233% profit, pretty good odds huh?

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California Dreamin’…….and of Nevada too

Five weeks tomorrow (Wednesday) my wife and I will be flying out to our second home, San Francisco, California, USA.  I use the word “home”, not in the sense that it is where we are permanently domiciled, but rather as the place where we feel most “at home”.  This will be our eighth trip to the City by the Bay and we could not be looking more forward to it.

Since the millenium we have, in the Spring of every even year (’00 to ’10 inclusive), spent 3-4 weeks “out west”.  Each vacation has followed a similar pattern - a week or so skiing in Heavenly, Lake Tahoe at the beginning and  week or two in San Francisco at the end, with three or four day visits to other locations sandwiched in between for a few days – these have included Vegas, San Diego, San Luis Obispo, Death Valley and Yosemite.

Following last year’s vacation we decided that life was too short to have to wait two years for our next skiing and SF fixes, so, at least for now, it has become an annual event.  Our long term aim, finances permitting, has always been that once my wife has joined me in Retirement Row, which may still be a few years yet, we will spend longer in San Francisco / Heavenly, upwards of three months at a time, twice a year. 

But for now it’s three and a half weeks, starting with the customary first night stay in San Francisco followed by the drive to South Lake Tahoe on the following day. Ever since the night in 2002 when we thought we could make the trip from SF to Tahoe immediately following an eleven hour flight, and then, after negotiating a heavy rain-splashed evening commute out of town, spent seven hours crawling through a four foot snow storm (of which more another time), we have seen sense and stayed in the City before venturing out refreshed the next morning. 

Besides, we have developed a routine, now I suppose it warrants being dignified with the word tradition, for that overnight stay that sets the scene for the entire vacation – dinner at Calzone’s on Columbus Avenue in North Beach followed by a scan of the shelves in the City Lights Bookstore and a few drinks in Vesuvio’s in the evening, and breakfast at the Eagle Cafe on Pier 39 the next morning, along with half an hour in the Barnes and Noble bookstore in Fisherman’s Wharf stocking up on any vacation reading before we head off to Tahoe.

We are only skiing for four days this year, though it’s four more days that we would have anticipated when we left there last March.  So we are hoping for perfect spring conditions – they snow is already there, all we need now is the sun.  And the best meal of our entire trip last year was at the Riva Grill on Ski Run Marina, so we plan to eat there again.

After five nights we fly from Reno to Vegas where we are meeting my wife’s parents, both of whom are now 80 and still hitting “Sin City”! Just three nights there but, as ever, action packed – Cirque de Soleil Viva Elvis show in the Aria, possibly another show yet to be booked and a trip to the Hoover Dam with a deluxe cruise on Lake Mead. And then there’s at least two of those nights spent tackling  feisty “Whiskey Girl” cocktails at Toby Keith’s I Love this Bar and Grill.

With such tasty appetisers cleared away we move onto the main course – San Francisco.  Last year we eschewed a hotel for the first time and stayed in an apartment in Hayes Valley for two weeks.  This will now be the template for the future.   We wanted to “live like locals” as much as possible, and staying in someone’s home is a good starting point - no maids knocking at your door in the morning anxious to clean your room, you can eat in as often or as little as you want and, if you have a washer and dryer, you are never short of clean clothing!  The last facility is particularly important this year since Virgin Atlantic has halved the cabin luggage allowance since our trip last year.

We are staying in a much larger apartment this year on Fulton Street, half way between Alamo Square and Golden Gate Park.  Not only is it more spacious but it comes with a huge TV, computer and, rarest and most precious of all in San Francisco, a designated parking space.

I will post separately about our plans for San Francisco but our emphasis this year will be on new places and new experiences, though I’m sure that we won’t be able to resist returning to many of our favourite haunts such as Beach Blanket Babylon (already booked for our fifth visit), the Cliff House,  Haight-Ashbury and AT & T Park.

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