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Oh God said to Abraham, “Kill me a son”
Abe says, “Man, you must be puttin’ me on”
God say, “No.” Abe say, “What?”
God say, “You can do what you want Abe, but
The next time you see me comin’ you better run”

From "Highway 61 Revisited" by Bob Dylan

 

Diary 2007

Mrs Marrian's birthday

Mrs Marrian's birthday. Mrs Marrian is cursed with having a birthday close to Christmas. Every year she has to employ her finest military skills to ensure that a) somebody remembers and b) the odd present comes her way. I do have a present in mind but it is going to have to wait a few months for finances to improve. All is not lost, however, as she has requested a birthday dinner, en famille (which turned out to be en bit of famille as elder daughter skived off to see Kylie Minogue at Wembley with the king of natural magic), at Tom's Kitchen. This is a very strange place. Although I telephone about a week before, they can only offer us a table if we arrive at 18:45 and they ring up twice in the preceding days to ensure we're actually going to pitch up. As it turns out, the place is unspeakably noisy and uncomfortable. Unless you have the advantage of a well-padded posterior (big bum in other words), take a cushion; two and a half hours on a wooden bench becomes irksome. And while you're at it you might as well take some ear plugs. This will prevent your hearing anything your fellow diners are saying to you but you can't anyway and you won't exit to the silent side streets with your tinnitus raging. It would have been nice if we'd been given a table. What we got was places on a long communal table reminiscent of school dinners with no privacy whatsoever. Of the three courses I ate, one was passable and two I would never eat again

9th January 2007

Nightmares

"A man with no face stares at me from the corner of a room. He pleads
for help, but I'm afraid to move. He begins to cry. It is a pitiful
sound, and it sickens me. He screams, but as I awaken, I realize the
screams are mine.

"That dream, along with a host of other nightmares, has plagued me since
my return from Iraq in the summer of 2004. Though the man in this
particular nightmare has no face, I know who he is. I assisted in his
interrogation at a detention facility in Fallujah. I was one of two
civilian interrogators assigned to the division interrogation facility
(DIF) of the 82nd Airborne Division. The man, whose name I've long
since forgotten, was a suspected associate of Khamis Sirhan al-Muhammad,
the Baath Party leader in Anbar province who had been captured two
months earlier.

"The lead interrogator at the DIF had given me specific instructions: I
was to deprive the detainee of sleep during my 12-hour shift by opening
his cell every hour, forcing him to stand in a corner and stripping him
of his clothes. Three years later the tables have turned. It is rare
that I sleep through the night without a visit from this man. His
memory harasses me as I once harassed him.

"Despite my best efforts, I cannot ignore the mistakes I made at the
interrogation facility in Fallujah. I failed to disobey a meritless
order, I failed to protect a prisoner in my custody, and I failed to
uphold the standards of human decency. Instead, I intimidated, degraded
and humiliated a man who could not defend himself. I compromised my
values. I will never forgive myself."

- Eric Fair, an Arabic linguist who worked in Iraq as a contract
interrogator in early 2004.

Today is elder daughter's birthday, which brightens matters up somewhat

2nd March 2007

Reporter

Go to see The Reporter at the National Theatre - a play about James Mossman. The programme contains notes (not by any means comprehensive) which bring back a few memories. I reproduce them below:

1963
Britain has the worst winter since 1948. Charles De Gaulle vetoes UK’S entry into the EEC. Harold Wilson elected Labour leader. Two journalists jailed for refusing to reveal sources in the case of Admiralty spy John Vassall. The Beatles’ first LP — Please Please Me. Very first episode of Doctor Who broadcast. British businessman Greville Wynne jailed in Moscow for spying. Secretary of State for War John Profumo resigns over his affair with Christine Keeler. £2.3 million stolen in the Great Train Robbery. Rioters burn down British embassy in Jakarta to protest formation of Malaysia. Martin Luther King delivers his "I have a dream" speech. John F Kennedy shot dead in Dallas. Lyndon B Johnson becomes president. National Theatre opens at the Old Vic

1964
Greville Wynne freed in spy swap with Russians. Nelson Mandela sentenced to life for treason. US steps up action in North Vietnam. Terence Conran opens first Habitat store on London's Fulham Road. Labour wins power in UK after 13 years of Tory rule. The Daily Herald ceases publication, replaced by The Sun. BBC Television Service renamed BBC1 after the launch of BBC2. BBC2 is the first British channel to use UHF and 625-line pictures giving higher definition than the existing VHF 405-line system

1965
LBJ sends marines into Vietnam as conflict escalates; US troops go on the offensive for the first time there. Edward Heath elected Tory leader. Diana Vreeland, editor of American Vogue, declares “London is the most swinging city in the world at the moment”. India and Pakistan at war over Kashmir. Malcolm X, prominent black nationalist leader in the US, assassinated. State troopers attack civil rights demonstrators in Selma, Alabama

1966
Three British MPs visiting Rhodesia assaulted by supporters of Rhodesian Prime Minister Ian Smith. UK ceases all trade with Rhodesia. Labour Party under Harold Wilson win the general election. US bombs Hanoi for the first time. 31 arrests made when a protest against the Vietnam war outside the US embassy in London turns violent. Mao TseTung proclaims Cultural Revolution in China. England beat Germany 4-2 to win football World Cup at Wembley. British spy George Blake escapes from Wormwood Scrubs; he is next seen in Moscow. London now “fashion capital of the world”; Time magazine has “ Swinging London” cover

1967
British troops open fire on rioters in Aden. Israel triumphant in six-day war against Arabs. Abortion legalised in Britain. US protests against war in Vietnam grow, but bombing raids are stepped up. “Summer of Love”: musical trends and hippie fashion come to be more associated with San Francisco, home of “flower power”, than with London. Che Guevara shot in Bolivian jungle. UK troops leave Aden after 128 years as People’s Republic of South Yemen is formed. BBC Two becomes the first television channel in Europe to broadcast regularly in colour. The Sexual Offences Act finally receives Royal Assent, ending the total ban on sex between men which has existed since 1885

1968
‘Tet offensive’: Viet Cong launches a series of attacks against major cities in South Vietnam; US hits back. German left-wing student leader Rudi Dutschke shot in the street in Berlin by Joseph Bachmann. To help them both understand what had moved Bachmann to try and kill him, Dutschke initiates a correspondence with the young worker. Rioting students, led by Daniel Cobn-Bendit, battle with police in Paris. Martin Luther King shot dead in Memphis. Russian tanks enter Czechoslovakia to crush “Prague spring”. The Theatres Act abolishes censorship of the stage in the UK, in place since 1727

1969
Rupert Murdoch buys The News of the World. Supersonic airliner, Concorde, launched. Millions of Americans demonstrate against Vietnam war. British troops use teargas on protesters in Belfast. 67-year-old Francis McCloskey killed by an RUC officer. Many consider this the first death of the Troubles. Student Jan Palach sets himself on fire in Prague’s Wenceslas Square to protest the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia; three days later he dies. Rolling Stones play a free concert in Hyde Park for 250,000 people. The government announces that colour transmissions from ITV and BBC1 will begin on 15 November; British audiences see colour television pictures from Apollo 11 on its way to the moon. First moon landing - Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin Richard. Nixon succeeds Lyndon Johnson as President of the US. US officer William Calley charged with massacre of 109 Vietnamese at Mylai in 1968. Abolition of death penalty for murder in UK

1970
Biafra capitulates, ending the Nigerian civil war. Rhodesia declares itself a racially-segregated republic. Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty goes into effect, after ratification by 43 nations. Nixon sends US troops into Cambodia. Four student anti-war protesters shot dead by National Guard soldiers at Kent State University, Ohio. Edward Heath wins surprise election victory. Anwar Sadat succeeds Nasser as President of Egypt. Salvador Allende elected President of Chile. Some 600,000 people attend the Isle of Wight Festival, the largest rock festival ever. Artists include Jimi Hendrix (who dies the same year, in London), The Who, The Doors, Chicago, Richie Havens, Joan Baez, Emerson, Lake & Palmer and JethroTull. Gay Liberation Front holds its first demonstration in London

1971
The United Kingdom and Ireland both switch to decimal currency. Idi Amin seizes power in Uganda. Millions flee into India from fighting in East Pakistan — the new independent state of Bangladesh. The UK increases its troops in Northern Ireland to 11,000. British security forces there detain hundreds of guerrilla suspects and put them into Long Kesh - the beginning of an internment without trial policy. Twenty die in riots that follow. A bomb explodes at the top of the Post Office Tower in London. The total number of American troops still in Vietnam drops to a record low of 196,700 (the lowest since January 1966)

5th March 2007

Glastonbury

Younger daughter is quite right. If you don't approach this diary writing business in a stream of consciousness way, months go by with not a word written because you never seem to have the time, energy, health, inclination, resolve or whatever to sit down and spend what is usually quite a long time composing your nuggets. Of course, whether a stream of consciousness ends up as a stream of drivel is the point

The last few months have not been plain sailing with a massive lupus attack, acute kidney failure and two hospital stays. I remain unconvinced that colchicine has not had its part in all this. For years, decades, I've soldiered on, bit of fever here and there, but the bloods never too bad and, in any case, stable; able to function, not a great appetite but enough and, apparently, no major organ involvement. Then I start on colchicine, described by Helen Lachmann as "completely safe", whose only side effect might be a bit of diarrhoea, and things go down hill from then on. I'm now on high dose steroids, the possessor  of lupus nephritis, confirmed by renal biopsy and, at the time of writing, uncertain as to what treatment I will receive for it and what the long term implications are. The steroids are interesting though. You swell up alarmingly. I must find out why. Perhaps it's fluid retention. But you feel great, no longer tired, a tremendous appetite, which I'm using to its maximum to try to get some weight on to this scrawny body, no depression, every day looked forward to and enjoyed. I don't think it can last because steroids aren't terribly good for you over the long term but I'm rock and rollin' with it for the time being!

Spent last weekend at the Glastonbury festival. I think we were probably very lucky to get tickets. 175,000 were sold as against over half a million people who registered to receive them. Despite continual attempts, I couldn't get on to the website or through by telephone. Fortunately, both elder and younger daughter had teams of valiant Glastonbury warriors, one of whom did get on to the site and by judicious use of the browser's back button got tickets for 30 people including us

The Guardian described the festival as a cross between a medieval village and a recently exploded circus. Of course it poured with rain (well, heavy showers interspersed with sunny bits) for the whole weekend. The mud was a major pain. It would take an hour to get from the car park into the site because every step had to be dragged out of Earth's clinging fingers. Mrs Marrian and I took the view a while ago that we would convert to being daytime festival goers only. So, we either rent a cottage or stay in a nearby hotel. This year we went to the Ash House Country Hotel, whose food, I must say, was truly excellent. The bed was not so good, being soft, spongy and at least 20 years past its sell-by date, although Mrs Marrian's summoning up of a sheet of chipboard firmed everything up. But it was barely 20 minutes away from the E9 car park, had mud-removal facilities and quiet nights in clean, country air - bliss. The Glastonbury experience becomes as much to do with the enjoyment off-site (being off-site (!), planning the next day, reminiscing, talking to other festival goers at the hotel) as on-site. And the planning works up to a point; you pour over the guide, mark the acts you want to see, some of which you actually get to see, but the unplanned stuff that you just come across because you're too tired to move anywhere else, or someone recommends it, is what can be truly surprising and wonderfully uplifting

Mind you, some unplanned stuff would have been better left unplanned. I left my silver money clip (25th wedding anniversary present from Mrs Marrian) with £60 in it on the counter in the Buddhafield cafe. I realised about ten minutes later but it had gone. It's depressing to speculate on the likelihood that the next person to you in a Glastonbury queue is a thief. Perhaps this is unfair; perhaps this particular little toe-rag was the only thief at the entire festival and just happened to be queuing up for his token bowl of muesli right behind me; perhaps, but I doubt it. Dishonesty in the modern world appears to be endemic, widespread, tolerated and even justified by people who should know better stitching up their insurance companies. After all, they're not being any less scrupulous than Mr Blair and Mr Campbell so it must be OK. The children weren't the least bit interested in my complaints; in fact I was roundly castigated for complaining at all - just not done at Glastonbury. Given that they still live at home, contribute absolutely bugger all (and still nick all my loo paper because they're too bone idle to buy their own), and fail most of the time even to tell me whether they're in for supper, they clearly believe that it is my duty to provide for those less fortunate, thieves or not

Looking back at my notes from Glastonbury 2005, I wrote:

  • Twinned with: Lagos - colourful and absolutely filthy
  • Sleep obtained: 8 hours each night (in the B&B!)
  • Most resisted healing therapy: Gong wash
  • Most chilled out time: sitting in the Small World Tent listening to open mic artists
  • Most boring festival goer: me - recounting how my last festival was in 1967 and they'd dropped red rose petals on us from a hot air balloon
  • Number of miles walked: choose a number and put several noughts on it. They were not kidding when they said "Glastonbury is the size of 900 football pitches and you will walk every one of them every day"
  • Best aging rock stars: Van Morrison and Brian Wilson - and they don't try to crowd surf
  • Best attention to detail: every performance on time
  • Worst attention to detail: the loos - an absolute disgrace
  • Most missed bit of equipment: my flippers
  • Biggest disappointment: not being offered a joint by a *single* person despite the entire festival chain-smoking the stuff
  • Song that made me cry: Martha Wainwright's scream of pain "Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole" - apparently written about her dad
  • Most exasperated overheard comment: "And how many people are there between the tree and the Landrover? A thousand cunts?"
  • Most sublime end to the festival: La Boheme at the ROH


For this year:

  • Most surprising act: Sadlers Wells collection of performances - original, varied, beautifully performed
  • Best musical revelation: The Dylan Project. It's was truly a joy to listen to laid-back, aging pros who actually have some understanding as to how to play their instruments, how to arrange the songs and how to sing - extraordinarily satisfying and one of the few moments when the sun came out, warming and drying us as we sat at the edge of the crowd
  • Most useful piece of equipment: lightweight camping chairs, with arm rests and cup holder!
  • Sharpest political comedy: Mark Thomas's demolition of the restrictions on protest in the environs of the Houses of Parliament. PC Paul McInally is now probably more famous than he would wish
  • Most impressive old man: Tony Benn with 15 minutes of furious comment "I've given up protesting. Now I demand"
  • Only non-food item bought: A handmade rope doormat
  • Most upsetting moment: Being shouted at by my children (see above)
  • Most improved facility: The loos
  • Most enjoyed music set: (aside from the Dylan Project) The Waterboys
  • Most embarrassing moment: Getting stuck on an entirely flat piece of "road" and having to be pushed by a female steward
  • Most unlikely innovation: Female urinals

1st July 2007

Garsington

Off to Garsington, taken by the very wonderful and very generous Cordelia Brown. For the last few years, bless her, she's summoned Steve and his Bentley and, accompanied by nephew David Lebus, has driven in splendour to Garsington. We normally come from Middle Lodge bearing dinner as a small contribution to the evening. As I am writing this some time after the event, and being blessed with an unretentive memory, I can neither remember the name of the opera nor  what it was about, although I do remember it being slightly less silly than is usual for the home of silly operas. Thinking that the Garsington website might have the information, I was astonished to discover that it was only available to members. I will now have to bother Cordeila for the programme as I keep a database of operas, and the performers, that I have seen. There may be good reason for this meanness, but I suspect the idiocy associated with a certain breed of the English is a more likely explanation

6th July 2007

Magic date

Struggled to the Astor party with high fever. A shame really, as I had been looking forward to it. I suspect the reducing steroid levels have now dipped below the optimum protective level. The pig roast was good, as was the cider and Tom looked every bit the star as he joined the band for five numbers. Eva and Freddie twirled away on various shoulders and a daft teenage girl brought her frightened, shivering whippet on to the dance floor where it exhibited such nervousness and dislike of the racket to which it was being subjected that I had to question whether this child should be allowed to keep a dog at all

7th July 2007

Banging pots

Dinner with Garry and Elfreda Pownall. As usual, Elfreda bangs a few pots and pans together and produces food of unimaginable deliciousness

9th July 2007

VRM

Howard and Joanna Page, and Anthony and Anne Pilger come to supper so that Mrs Marrian can acknowledge Anne and Howard's part in the foundation of her new school (Victoria Road Montessori) in the vestry of Christ Church in Victoria Road, Kensington, London. Anne, who paints with Mrs Marrian, had let her know that the premises had become available and Howard, being a church warden at the time, negotiated terms and performed well beyond the call of duty in preparing and improving the premises. We dine as impressively as we can, the only disappointment being the missing Tokai which is supposed to accompany our pudding but can't be found anywhere

12th July 2007

Lupus nephritis

Busy day in the Chelsea and Westminster: a bone density scan so that any steroid-induced calcium reduction can be monitored followed by my first clinic with Dr Jeremy Levy, the renal consultant. He confirms the biopsy shows lupus nephritis but, thankfully, no amyloidosis. Jeremy Levy is very impressive, very thorough, explains everything clearly and even asks if I have a preference among the options he has outlined. My preference is his preference so we start on 250mg mycophenolate as an immuno-suppressant, twice a day, and lansoprazole as a stomach protective. This is to be followed on return from Switzerland by two two-hour infusions, two weeks apart, of rituximab, an experimental drug, with no clinical trials yet available but excellent anecdotal reports. This drug is designed to turn off the B-cells, the implication of which is not yet clear to me, although the grizzly and gruesome warnings on the Rituxan website are clear enough!

17th July 2007

Social life

I go to see Dr Mosaref Ali, an Ayurvedic doctor, reputed to be friends with Prince Charles. And, indeed, my consultation is interrupted by Dr Ali answering his mobile telephone and speaking to an equerry. A few minutes later our conversation is interrupted again by a further call. I decide that at £80 for half an hour this doctor should pay rather more attention to his patient than to his social life

19th July 2007

Serin in the rain

It rained all morning and just when we were getting really itchy about the lack of exercise the sun came out. We grabbed a picnic and decided to lunch in the meadows of Serin. Big mistake: we walked up a path at 22C and an hour later ran down a river at 11C, a fearsome and ferocious wind chasing us all the way back to the apartment. But we got a walk!

2nd August 2007

Incron

Incron for a picnic lunch. The long, steep walk up to the shepherd's hut wasn't nearly as bad as I remember although this observation did not please Mrs Marrian one bit. The upland meadow is every bit as beautiful as described in the dark and near fatal entry of October 17th 2006. We walk back through the fire damaged landscape under Le Go. A Swiss-German couple were rash enough to light a fire to cook their lunch. Tinder dry conditions created a somewhat more impressive barbecue than they had planned and they are now being prosecuted - awful, really, as that area had only just recovered from a landslide several years ago

4th August 2007

Brolio

We take our annual trip to Verona to visit the opera in the arena. Normally, we get up at the crack of dawn in order to be there for lunch but for me that adds too much stress to the whole thing. Much better to leave after breakfast, arrive mid-afternoon and really enjoy a pre-opera dinner at 18:00. Our hotel, as usual, is Hotel Verona, although the rather beautiful receptionist, who reminds me of younger daughter's friend Sasha Siem, asks if this is our first visit to Verona. She looks suitably sheepish when we tell her it's our fourth visit, that we always stay at her hotel and that we remember her very well (I'm sure young and pretty helps!) and she promises to remember us next year. Dinner is at the Bottego del Vino, a flamboyant restaurant justly famed for its wine list, exquisite wine glasses and decor. For years I have been trying to find Castello de Brolio, a wine Mrs Marrian (in those moist and tender days before she became such) and I used to drink in San Lorenzo. Always I have received puzzled looks as though the various wine waiters had never heard of the wine. Until today! Castello de Brolio 1999 was very much on the menu and more delicious than a very delicious thing. The first sense of its aroma took me right back. I'd like to say that by the time we'd finished the bottle Mrs Marrian looked every bit as gorgeous as she did in 1974 but for me she always looks gorgeous; the passage of time has yet to diminish her. Aida was quite spectacular and utterly beautiful. I've seen some pretty rough productions, visually, over the years but this was not one of them

5th August 2007

Lunch with the Pritties

On our way back to Anzère we stop off to see Hugo and Helga Prittie for lunch at their new home in Brisago overlooking Lake Maggiore. Goodness, what a treat. It was a complete joy to seem them both again as it has been years since we did so. The lunch was exquisite, Hugo's wine, as usual, as good as it's possible to get, and the apartment and setting nothing short of paradise. I feel blessed to have friends like that - warm and welcoming and generous to a fault

6th August 2007

Lost property

Younger daughter arrives, accompanied by the great and glorious Louis ten Kate, ostensibly to do a paragliding course but the weather looks to be against them. The last time we met younger daughter off the Sion train she was so excited to see us that she left her luggage on board and then couldn't find it. Mother and daughter valiantly fought a losing battle with the conductor who was rapidly turning purple at the realisation that his train was about to leave 30 seconds late (tip: if there is a discrepancy between the time on your watch and the advertised arrival of a Swiss train, change your watch) because these two English females had hijacked his door closing mechanism - possibly the only time in the history of Swiss Rail that such an event had occurred. The train roared off to Milan with younger daughter's prized possessions, passport, tickets and money still sitting under some seat somewhere. And guess what? Within 24 hours they were back at Sion lost property all intact. God, is Switzerland not one of the wonders of the world?

7th August 2007

Pas de Maimbré whiteout

Out of desperation, because Louis "my body is a temple" ten Kate has yet to see a mountain, we decide to climb Pas de Maimbré for a cheese fondue lunch. The walk to Pas de Maimbré, during which you climb almost a kilometre, is not recommended as a first walk. It is true that we did it as our first walk seventeen years ago but we did it by mistake and to this day I have no idea why we didn't turn back; it nearly killed all four of us. Still, for that reason alone, I suppose it is fitting that this is Temple's first walk. Mrs Marrian, who has become somewhat canny over the years, takes stock of the miserable, wet and extremely cold conditions about a quarter of the way up and turns back. The foolhardy, and hungry, trio (me, Temple and younger daughter) keep going right on up. Conditions do not improve. At first there are a few patches of snow but for the last quarter of the climb, which is by far the steepest and most arduous, there is deep snow, which has obliterated the path and it is difficult to know whether the next step will put you into a two feet deep pothole or connect you with mother earth. This hellishness is lightened by the hearts drawn in the snow every ten yards by Temple, and swooned over by younger daughter as she reaches each one. God, is there no place these two won't indulge in their love-making? There is also a thick, white mist such that it is impossible to get any sense of direction because there is nothing on which to fix - just a classic whiteout. I lead us too far right and, with the mountain god, or possible the cheese fondue god, smiling on us, the clouds lift momentarily just enough to allow us to correct our route and saving us from plunging off the right hand precipice. Monumentally knackered is a mild description of how I feel when I reach the top. The lovebirds have fared rather better - hormone reinvigoration therapy perhaps being the reason, although early twenties helps

10th August 2007

Hotel Weisshorn

We take Temple to the Hotel Weisshorn for lunch. The weather has improved and the sun is out. Nevertheless, Temple wears heavy jeans remaining unconvinced that I do not have another ghastly mountain experience for him, one requiring plenty of body armour. It is true that the hotel is surrounded by snow but it is warm and by the time we leave the path has become a little river of snowmel

11th August 2007

Blood tests

Having felt particularly grizzly over the last few days (thinking in the dead of Wednesday night that I might actually end up in Sion hospital), I took the precaution of making an appointment to see Dr Imobersteg, the doctor we use in Botyre. Clutching my French dictionary and my medical notes I attempted to express, as best I could, how I felt, and explain my medical history. I think Dr Imobersteg appreciated my valiant foray into the French language, at least sufficiently to break into very passable English. The problem with Lupus, complicated by Lupus Nephritis, is that no sensible treatment can be arrived at without blood results. So what happens? He looks at the blood test summary kindly provided to me by Chelsea and Westminster A&E, tells me that none of them presents a problem, calls his nurse to take the blood and ten minutes later (no exaggeration) presents me with a printout of all the results with the exception of sodium which has to be done at the local hospital and will be ready in a few hours. Everything is normal enough, I am mightily relieved and immediately start feeling better; and for this astonishingly good service I am charged about £60, around a third of what I would have had to pay a Harley Street doctor for a half hour chat. My admiration for Dr Imobersteg and all things Swiss continues unabated

We buy exotic Italian cheeses and ravioli in the Sion Friday market, little baskets for Mrs Marrian's schools, eat fillets of perch and salad, and chocolate mousse for lunch in a market café before investigate Aligro, a massive and extremely impressive cash and carry which puts every British cash and carry I've ever been into completely to shame. The only trolleys available are absolutely massive, completely over the top, or so at first it seemed to me. However, Aligro knows its customers better than they know themselves and by the time we'd wandered around the thing was groaning with unplanned (but entirely necessary!) purchases for home, Middle Lodge and (natch) Mrs Marrian's schools - a thoroughly satisfactory experience

17th August 2007

No people

We get to Serin without either clouds or rain! It continues to be extraordinary (to me) that in a world blighted by tourist pollution, with every beauty spot desecrated by mass attendance, it is possible to walk, along defined paths even, for a whole day in the ravaging beauty of the Swiss mountains without seeing a single other person. And so it was today. Even the Tsalan restaurant was open for an after lunch café au lait. Bliss upon bliss

18th August 2007

Mountain wireless

The far side of the valley from Anzère is graced by a series of mountain peaks, one of the more interesting being La Maya, shaped much like an anthill, not that large in comparison to the other peaks but curiously compelling nevertheless. The first time we visited it we went to Trogne, just above St Martin which looked to be the logical approach. But the walk was tedious, through row upon row of little suburban chalets. So next time around we tried from the other side of the ridge, driving to Vercorin and taking the téléphérique up to Crêt du Midi. Ideally we would have wanted to walk to Le Louché, a small lake just beyond La Maya but the walk is advertised as three hours: so that's six hours walking, say an hour for lunch which doesn't leave much room for error when the téléphérique window is 08:30 - 16:30, and it's a long way down the mountain to the car park. So we stopped short, admired a really quite impressive La Maya from up close and caught the last cable car down. This year La Maya called again and we went today taking advantage of the last sunny day before a spell of rain sets in, or so the wildly inaccurate Yahoo Weather would have us believe. Memories were dim and we ended up at Chalais, which had a large sign on the téléphérique building saying Vercorin (so we thought we were in the right place) which should more accurately have read "Vers Vercorin". Never mind, it was possibly quicker to take the cable car to Vercorin than to drive to it. From there up to Crêt du Midi and out into the valley on the road to Le Louché. The sun was out but Mrs Marrian was tired, and moaning but only in a resigned sort of way - not, thankfully, in the I want to go home because I'm too knackered to go on and you'll just have to lump it sort of way. We lunched at the edge of a flat meadow, at the head of a waterfall; the clouds poured down on us from over the peaks and it rained. Normally, we're pretty good at avoiding the rain but this is the third time this holiday that the rain has hit us when we are about as far from shelter as is possible. Rain has a remarkable effect on Mrs Marrian. Any similarities to a snail with an over-sized house on its back disappear and a sleek, triathlon-fit speed-walker appears. The Crêt du Midi restaurant was reached in a trice and we were restored by cappuccino and thé vervaine. What happened next was more surreal than surprising and given that this is Switzerland probably not that surprising at all. I took out my XDA in order to send a text to younger daughter only to discover customer-friendly (ie unsecured) broadband fully active in a cable car station at the top of a massive mountain. I clicked "Connect", and all the email from the server in our London house came flooding in. As someone with a passing connection to the IT industry this was icing on the cake and, although we could have done without the rain, the day was thoroughly enjoyed and well-spent

19th August 2007

Ikea

Finally bit the bullet and went to IKEA, which is not close, being well to the Geneva side of Lausanne. We've been looking for some new dining room chairs as the cane ones we have will cost more to repair than to be replaced but none (affordable) can we find in and around Sion. IKEA is like something out of a science fiction movie, particularly when you come to the checkouts, with the high warehouse-like ceilings, the efficiency of the tills, the columns of people and their laden trolleys waiting quietly in line to be processed. The whole thing is deeply unsettling and yet the merchandise is extremely nice, often made out of decent quality, natural materials, well made and well designed

There are very few fat people in Switzerland, certainly very few wandering around IKEA, unlike the London store which probably has to reinforce its floors

22nd August 2007

My birthday

My birthday! We've decided to spend the night at the Hotel Weisshorn, most infamous as the destination of my 46th birthday expedition recounted here. First we have a date with Alex Sports in Crans Montana to buy a new, large and lightning-proof umbrella as well as a rucksack worthy of the name. We also grab a pocket French-English dictionary, which tells me amongst other useful phrases how to communicate that I would like to check-out (Je voudrais régler). Crans Montana is seriously smart; never has Mrs Marrian seen so many handmade shoes in one place

From there we drive to St Luc and lunch at the Hotel Bella-Tola, sitting on the terrace under gorgeous yellow umbrellas, before taking the funiculaire up to Tignousa. An hour and a half later we are sitting in the sun drinking tea followed by Sierrevoise Blanche, a remarkable local beer. The sun is warm; for the first time in days there are no clouds; the surrounding mountains are shining white with the recent snow; this is close to heaven and the evening continues in much the same way. In the early hours of the morning, we look out over the valley. The lights of the villages below make curious shapes: St Luc looks like a joker with cap and bell whereas Grimentz resembles an alien and slightly misshapen starfish

After breakfast, I deploy "Je Voudrais régler" with the desired result. Mrs Marrian says you don't add service to hotel bills so I don't. But, I am a serial tipper and I feel guilty all the way down les cascades. I resolve to send a suitably sized note by post to salve my conscience, particularly as the French waitress, who'd spent a year in Canada and talked to us in perfect English, had been so kind and helpful

24th August 2007

Cheese fondue

Mrs Marrian and I throw caution to the winds and decide to walk to Pas de Maimbré for our last cheese fondue of the holiday. It is the most beautiful day but Mrs Marrian turns back a quarter of the way up and resorts to the cable car. I make good progress, halting only to provide succour to a young mother who, inexplicably, has decided to carry her baby (in her arms) down this very steep and difficult walk. Pas de Maimbré does not let me off scot free, subjecting me to a nasty jolt from an electrified fence as I try to close the top gate

26th August 2007

Home

We are returned safe and sound from Switzerland and awake to discover the prison officers on strike, the nurses wanting to strike, an eleven year old boy shot by an older teenager in a pub car park, who then rides off on a BMX bike, rubbish and broken bottles all over our street because someone has left their bags in the street to be torn open by dogs or foxes during the night, dog crap all over the place. Why do we live in this place?

30th August 2007

Rugby

04:45 - off to Switzerland. The Eurotunnel terminal is packed and they're even running extra trains. "Why", I ask innocently. "Rugby", comes the weary reply

Cold, no wind, no clouds, beautiful autumn colours; the journey through France is spectacular. We manage to stop at the Chateavillain service station to say thank you to Fabrice. Not only does Fabrice speak perfect English but to him had come the task of rescuing Mrs Marrian's handbag in July from a coat peg in the loo. "It's your lucky day", he had said as money, cards et al shone forth in all their un-stolen glory. He was even kind enough to post the bag to Switzerland

20th October 2007

Ertegun and Stanley

I've started reading Rolling Stone Magazine again. As the magazine was founded in 1967, there's been plenty of retrospective stuff about that time and the people who made it what it was. Some say 1967 was the beginning of the sixties; others, probably more correctly, that it was the end. I was too young (17/18), at an English private school, and on the wrong continent. Even so, I had my moments and absorbed some of what was going on. Despite this, I never cease to be amazed when I read of characters who were pivotal to the whole scene about whom I am entirely ignorant. Ahmet Ertegun for one (see here for some recollections); Owsley Stanley is another (see here) for a recent interview. Also there is an excellent Rolling Stone article about him which I can't find at the moment. His (somewhat rough) website contains an apocalyptic vision of the effects of climate change here

25th October 2007

Briance carols

"It is true what Clemmie said: that, over the years, we have heard many fine words during the “advertising break” as it is cheekily referred to by some of your more irreverent guests! But none has been so charming, so natural and so eloquent as Clemmie’s words. Her reflection epitomised the wonder that is family Briance. From the oldest to the youngest we witness something rare (and have no doubt that it is rare) and beautiful and we are blessed by it each year."

19th December 2007