Groundhog day

So back to the Embassy for a second try. A sunny morning, and I'm in a positive mood. Could I do this all before 10am? Were the Gods of Visa on my side..?

Were they hell!

The Queue at 8am was worse than the queue at 11am the previous day. I started talking to other seasoned Visa queuers. I might get to the front of the queue by 11am they said. As I had to start work an hour before that, my heart sank like a stone.

So I joined the queue out of blind optimism anyway, just to see if it would move AT ALL. It did, bang on 9am, but my hopes of a quick turnaround were receding fast. People in front of me had come prepared, with books, music and giant cups of coffee to while away the hours before getting processed by the people's republic.

My disappointment was only leavened by a courier who obviously had left the gig too late and tried begging his way into the middle of the queue. This being England, we were having none of it, and he promptly got sent packing around the corner to the very back.

So with time definitely not on my side, I left the embassy still without my Visa. Now I have the hard earned knowledge that I'll have to be up with the milkmen, and start queuing a lot earlier if I'm going to get that darn paperwork.

Props out to my fellow queuer DJ Storm, I hope the Beijing gig goes well, and the sun shines for you...

Destination China - 32 days and counting

So I'm back posting again after a long while. Hurrah!

I'm also back out in to the big wide world to report on the most interesting, vivid and bizarre places. In the process meeting fun and strange people, and of course attending any cultural festival I can find.

So in just over a month I'm heading off to resume an unfinished part of last year's tour, China. Having run out of time in Hong Kong I had to race back to the UK for two important weddings. As I bored my plane I vowed to return as soon as possible to this vast, strange, controversial and increasingly globally vital country.

With the help of Virgin Atlantic I'm flying off to Shanghai in May. Before you can fly though, you have to visit the Chinese Embassy for a visa. After the events of this weekend, I was not sure what to find as I approached Portland Place in London.


There was certainly a big big crowd as I approached the door to the visa application building. I asked one man standing there what the big crowd was for, half in mind that fire extinguishers might be let off any moment and cries of "Free Tibet!" would ring in to the air. I was to be disappointed, it was THE QUEUE for getting a visa. And it stretched all the way around the block.

As it was 11am and the office closed at 12, there was no chance in getting served. I resigned myself to the inevitable, I wasn't thwarted by protestors, but by the popularity of people wanting to visit the Country. I laughed, then strode off to the magnificent Daunt Books on Marylebone High Street to peruse their brilliant downstairs Asia section.

So we try again tomorrow!

A brief encounter with... 'Brief Encounter'

" I always try and see Brief Encounter on my birthday" says Luke, the protagonist of Geoff Dyers' great book, Paris Trance. David Lean's seminal 1945 film is the only thing that seems to ground the character. It's a constant, in an otherwise mad journey through the summer of the lives and loves of four friends in the French capital.

I understand why he did that. The film always feels to me like it belongs on BBC2 on a wet Saturday afternoon. There's something which is very safe and quintessentially British about the picture. It feels like Britain, or a version of which we are comfortable with at least. For those unaware of it's charms here's a synopsis.

The story is of a married woman (Laura, Celia Johnson) who meets by chance a doctor (Alec, Trevor Howard) at a train station, who comes to her aid when she has some grit in her eye. What follows is a study in friendship, desire, guilt, thwarted passion and finally duty. Many of the scenes are played out on location at Canforth Station, Lancashire.

So after my brief Manchester visit, I took a rather more leisurely walk from Lancaster to Carnforth, to pay homage to a cult classic. My good friend Dr Alex, had some great guides produced by Lancaster council with detailed walks around the historic city. I decided to take the 8.7 mile (14km) walk to Carnforth, via the Lune river, Lancaster canal and the stunning but fatal Morecambe Bay.

It's a fun walk which takes in a lot of wildlife as it heads north from Lancaster. The castle looms in the background. I popped in to the castle for a quick tour the day before to see if my family shield was displayed next to the Queen's.

My guide was at first really positive: "I think I've heard of it!"
I thought "Brilliant, I have standing and nobility in my ancestry!"
After searching the walls, and then the official ledger he came back with "No sorry, I must have been thinking of a prisoner!"
Lancaster Castle, is of course a fully operational prison...

The walk takes you down the river where kingfishers hunt by the weir. The path then across the impressive Lune Aqueduct to join the canal. It meanders past people's backyards and workplaces, before opening up into rolling countryside and bored looking cows standing in fields.

About halfway along the walk is a great lunch stop, The Hesk Bank Hotel. A restorative pint of Black Sheep beer and a ploughman's, sets you up for walking across Morecambe Bay. It is a beautiful spot, but tainted in recent memory by the Chinese cockle picker tragedy.

Onwards on the canal and Carnforth appears. The station is well set up for catering for visitors. The main one being there aren't that many trains to get in your way, as it now languishes being a small branch station. The famous 'refreshment rooms' and platform have been lovingly restored by a team of passionate volunteers. There is also a dedicated room for fans to watch the film on constant DVD re-runs and a gift shop to buy your own copy.

My own impressions were, in keeping with the film all too brief. I just had time to gulp down a milky coffee before being bundled out of the door. "I've got to turn this place around to be a bar for tonight's jazz evening" says the manager by way of explanation. But I still had time to admire the platform clock and the place where the Laura and Alec said there farewells.

It's a subtly complex film which even one of the stars didn't quite understand. Trevor Howard allegedly turned to David Lean during the filming and said "But why doesn't Alec just f*** her??" The beauty in understanding the film and also the place, is knowing the answer to that question.

A brief encounter with... Manchester

Have you ever met up with a friend you haven't seen in a while, and they've had a complete makeover in the meantime? It's a slightly jarring experience. The new look throws you for a while until you adjust to it. The familiar and old clash with the sparky and new. Then you remember why you were friends with this person in the first place, and can start to relax. Well that's now I felt about visiting Manchester this week.

I spent a lot of time in the mid nineties in Manchester, and the place always had a swagger about it. Stuart Maconie in last years best travel book, Pies and Prejudice, goes into an entertaining rant about how it's the British city that fancies itself the most, and I agree. And my experience of the city was before the mother of all makeovers that followed the IRA bombing of the Arndale centre. That terrible event at the fag end of 'the troubles' gave the city it's biggest reason to change itself. I haven't visited the city in years and a trip to Lancaster gave me the obvious excuse to break the journey and spend a few hours getting to know the city again.

Entering the city at Piccadilly station the changes are obvious and instant. Instead of a grubby slope down onto London Road, new station shops open on onto gleaming office blocks with men dangling on ropes inspecting the miles of glass. At the start of Piccadilly the Malmaison hotel chain has it's Manchester branch. The idea of anyone wanting to sleep at this end of the city ten years ago was laughable, now it's 255 pounds a night for a suite.

Heading up Piccadilly you enter the gardens. A grand staging post the city's buses and trams, sorry, Metrolink, the square has been spruced up and new buildings flank two of it's sides. Heroin addicts from Withenshaw used to call this place home, now it's young guys in bright jackets giving away copies of the local paper. It's not just London that gets the joy of recycled press releases and celebrity 'gossip' thrust at them on their way to and from work then..

Dodging the trams I cut through the Arndale centre. It was comforting to find that this bastion to cheap shopping hasn't changed. It now boasts an Aldi. That's all I'm going to say.

Corporation Street has changed completely. A new M&S and Selfridges sit next to each other in a great big glass box. Next door another London department store, Harvey Nicols opens it's doors to the footballers' wives set. In front of all this gleaming consumerism, is the Manchester Wheel. It's like a cut down version of the London Eye.

The further you wander around this area of the city, the more development you see. The old corn exchange is now called 'The Triangle'. The tatty but endearing little stalls have long gone and instead is a Triffids-like pod boasting a Cafe Nero. Further down Deansgate cranes stretch into the air, slowly pirouetting as they transform the skyline.

All this modernity was increasing hard to take in on a short stop over, so I headed to the Northern Quarter. Thankfully this area hasn't (yet) been bulldozed over to make flats for marketing executives, and still retains it's charm. Many good bars have now sprung up here, along side independent clothes and jewellery shops. This is the Manchester that I loved in the 90's so it was a relief to still find that vibe alive and well. Even the temple of studentdom, Affleck's Palace is still trading. Although signs in the maze of shops signify that it's only hanging on my it's fingernails.

Oldham Street still boasts it's fine vinyl and cd shops, with Piccadilly, Vinyl Exchange and Eastern Bloc doing good trade. I spent far too much time in these places as a student, so it was a pleasure to grab a copy of the new We Are Scientists cd, before ambling back to the station.

I sat bewildered on the train as it pulled away from city. So much has changed in a comparative short space of time. What to make of it all? Manchester still has it's swagger about it, just recently it's been able to do so in designer clothes.

A new place to lay my head

Moving is right up there in the stress stakes with births, marriages and deaths. But If you're lucky to have some very good friends to help you lug boxes around it can all go swimmingly.

So I'm now a resident of Shoreditch, which for a few years was the epicentre of all things arty and cool. The best documenter of that was this. The area's creative types were also taken to task by Charlie Brooker's brilliant creation of Nathan Barley. It worked better in print than it did on screen.

Anyway, lots of new bars and restaurant's to explore. This first I went to last night was Fabrizio's on St Cross Street in Clerkenwell. A really welcoming place with good variety of rustic italian cooking. The owner Fabrizio Zafanara came over and chatted with us afterwards. A brilliant place and half empty!

Last weeks news today..

One of the small snippets of information that came out of last week’s Heathrow crash was an interview with one of the passengers of BA038 from Beijing. After complimenting the pilots and cabin crew, he then put the boot in to ground staff while waiting to get checked out by medical staff.

"I asked if tea and coffee could be arranged and this fell on deaf ears"

What?! The plane only missed crashing in Hounslow by a matter of seconds and he’s going on about the tea?? I’d be straight off to the bar to clear out the champagne before hugging everyone in T4 for getting out alive. Perspectives man! You have just become a member of a select band of people to say you walked away from a plane crash. Enjoy it!

Book review: Charlie Connolly, Attention All Shipping

If you suffer like me from interminable bouts of Insomnia (usually when there’s an early start the next morning), the lilting melody of “sailing by” and the shipping forecast that follows it on Radio 4 denotes the fact that it’s almost 1 o’clock in the morning. If you’re still awake at such hour you may have given half a thought to what those obtuse place names that are called out to weary fisherman actually mean. Where exactly is Lundy? What are you supposed to do with a Dogger Bank?.

Charlie Connolly has thought these same thoughts and more. He’s actually done a whole trip around the shipping areas of the uk, to find out what’s the deal with this broadcasting institution.

Starting out from his home in Greenwich, Charlie trawls his way clockwise around the country and also popping over to such glamorous locales as North Utsire, (a bleak windswept isle), the independent and paranoid state of Sealand “we’ve had attacks on our sovereignty!” claims the prince. Which is more surprising, as the state is an old WW2 barrage 10 miles off the coast of Southend.

Through the course of his travels, the highlights are the small stories of how the sea has influenced the lives of those living at it’s edge or who’s living depended on it. Lovely tales abound of outstanding bravery from lifeboat men, eccentric lighthouse keepers and piracy on the high seas.