After the skiing fiasco, Richard and I were glad to be off doing something a bit different. We'd heard that they did Dog Sledge rides at Sqaw Valley ...... mush!!!!

We arrived on a beautiful, sunny morning. The dogs (all cross huskies) were already in their harnesses, and making that unmistakeable baying sound. "Don't pet the dogs" came the shout from a young man with long dreadlocks and a very nifty hat, "until they've had a good run, they can be a bit exciteable."

To Ski or Not to Ski ..... learning

At the beginning of January Richard and I embarked upon (looking back on it) a rather foolhardy expedition. We decided that the time had come to learn how to ski.

We set off on the Amtrak train (described in previous blog), and arrived to a beautiful South Lake Tahoe and newly opened Ritz Carlton Hotel. The setting was fabulous, with majestic views of the mountains, deep snow and brilliant sun-shine - who could ask for more?


The resort was labelled as a 'ski in, ski out' facility, which meant that after you'd hired all the gear from the nice little shoppe in the hotel, a helpful young lad would come out and assist with the most complicated procedure of 'putting your boots on'. These are meant to feel 'like a firm hand-shake' (mine felt like something was strangling my feet). Once all our kit was on, we then had to walk about 50 yards (which is no easy task in those boots), to where the staff had thoughtfully positioned our skis and poles in the snow for us. Slightly embarrassed at this point, as we had to ask them to put the skis on the snow-mobile, as we would definitely NOT be skiing down to the ski school, but taking the transport instead!!




At the ski school we joined in the beginners class, and were soon being able to move a few feet without falling over. Once you've mastered that, they take you on the 'magic carpet' (which is like a moving walkway, that goes up a slight hill). There are different points to exit the 'magic carpet' - as you progress, the further up the hill you can go. So we were doing the plough position with about 15 very small children, who were told to "make a pizza" for the position of the skis.......this became our mantra for the entire day. I managed to progress to the top of the hill, but Richard was most disgruntled not to get past the 'superman frog' sign where the rest of the 5 year olds got off.


I had not realised how much hard work skiing was. We were both drenched with sweat, and glad that we'd only put on our 'base layer' under our jackets, as anything more would have caused me to pass out!







By the third day, we had been allowed to go on the ski lift, and actually ski down a proper slope!! This was where things started to go a bit arwy. Firstly, we were all stationary, listening to our instructor giving us some pearls of wisdom on leaning forward, bending your knees or some such thing, when a young lady learning to snow board, came careering down the hill, and wiped Richard straight out! Needless to say, he wasn't very happy about this. Still, these things happen, so on with the learning. At the end of the afternoon, our instructor thought it would be fun to go down the 'Village Run', which is about a mile long, and runs from the ski school down to the main village. He did mention that 'at the top it's a bit steep, but it soon flattens out' .... huh! A bit steep!!!! It was like a black run to us!!! And it was full of people (going very fast) on their way home for the evening. We started off OK, but then Richard had what's called a 'Yard Sale', or as Richard describes it "a double forward simultaneous ejaculation!". This is when you do a kind of swan dive forward, your skis and poles go in every direction and you end up flat on your face in the snow. (I was quite disappointed to have missed seeing the dive, as all I saw was Richard, spread-eagled on the slope!) At this point, snow boarders began leaping over where Richard had fallen, some performing aerial twists (which I thought was a tad inconsiderate!).

The instructor helped Richard to his feet, but it was quite apparent that his knee, and his confidence were severely dented. We made it to the bottom, took the gondola back to the Hotel, where upon Richard announced "Tried it, hate it, never doing it again!" ..... can't say I blame him ...

I had a few more lessons during the week, and by the end of our stay, was really proud to ski down the mountain from the very top!!!!!!! The views up there were truly spectacular, but as I was so petrified about the imminent ski down, I didn't take a lot of notice!

I thoroughly enjoyed the skiing (once I got the hang of it) ...... but I don't think we'll be doing it together anytime soon .........

To Ski or not to ski......getting to Truckee

We made a decision - we are good at decisions - to abandon the relatively balmy Bay area and go try our hands at Skiing - This was my first mistake, you use your feet apparently.

North Lake Tahoe was selected as the destination due to the gentle beginner slopes at Northstar (yeah, right) and I splashed out on the newly opened Ritz Carlton, telling myself that we hadn't had a holiday this year. (Look, I have been working, all the other stuff in this blog is a fabrication - just quit your bitchin).

Amtrak was going to take us in a super sleeper roomette. I was, to be honest, expecting less having travelled extensively by train in the UK. To my surprise, although the bonkete was tired and shabby, it didn't smell like a french pissoir, the staff were not surly, the toilet flushed and did not contain a huge turd - things were starting well.

The train departed with a satisfying hoot - and we were treated with some excellent views. I particularly like trains - you can see the underbelly of a country from a train - houses with abandoned trucks in the yard - trash everywhere . You don't see all this shit (quite literally) from 36,000 feet in a Boeing. It was all really very good, but sooooo slow. The idea of high speed rail doesn't seem to really have caught on - but if the velocity was 19th century, so, by UK standards, was the price at $40 for a 5 hour trip.

Conductor Dave kept us well supplied with coffee - and threw us out on a deserted platform at Truckee - the quaintest little gem for miles around (there is NOTHING apart from bear crap for 50 miles so far as I can see)

But all in all - a good trip - we saw lots - relaxed and it was more civilised than driving - we saw towering mountains and deep gorges - and the underbelly, groin and nether regions - all at a stately, Victorian pace.

Blazing Nutcrackers!

Yeeeeee Haaaaaaaa!!! Dance Pardner!!!

On a lovely Sunday afternoon, Jean took me to the Yerba Buena Centre for the Arts, for Dance-Along Nutcracker "Blazing Nutcrackers!"

For those expecting ballerinas in crisp white tu-tus, dancing superbly on point to the wonderful music of Tchaikovsky, they were in for a bit of a shock. Not that I saw anyone looking remotely put out or perturbed ......

I really got into the spirit of the thing, and purchased a buckaroo hat, glittery wand and hired a nice blue tutu from a frightfully decent fellow at the back of the hall. I was all set and ready to go!!

San Francisco Lesbian/Gay Freedom Band struck up some memorable Western songs, and we were off!

The story was based on the Nutcracker, but had more than a twist to it. The show was all set in the Wild West, and the town of Gallstone was trying to find a hero that would save them from the from the dastardly Ratfields, that were going to blow up the town at midnight ...... told you there was a bit of a twist!!!!

Whilst the cast acted out the story, there were regular intervals where the audience were requested to "pull up those cowboy boots, and get jiggin'". You couldn't really let yourself go too much, as you were in danger of tripping up over the numerous small people that always seemed to be under your feet. One particular chap (aged about 9 years old) was extremely good, and could spin and spin ...... It was brilliant fun, and after only a few minutes we were all quite hot, and wishing we'd brought in some water!

Some of the audience had really gone to town on their outfits, tights, sequins, feather boas, and that was just the men!!!!

Coming home on the cable car was fun .... got quite a few funny stares as I was still wearing my buckaroo hat and waving my wand at the passers-by!

Brilliant time .... excellent fun!

High on a Hill Stood a Lonely Goat

admittedly after seeing Christopher Plumer recently, the old goat could still stand on a hill and look good.



This, you have to understand is because a week ago we had THE BEST fun ever in the CASTRO - and we all remained fully clothed at all times.



At the Castro Theatre, a fine 1920's theatre where no doubt George Raft and Humph Bogart films were premiered, we went to SING ALONG with the Sound of Music.

The audience were more Dirk Bogarde than Humphrey Bogart - but the ad libs and comments could only have come from the Castro.

In addition to sitting next to the two fruitiest gays - we were treated to some great mini costume dramas - any excuse to dress up is obviously capitalised on - especially if it involves the chance to pull on a pair of snug, figure enhancing lederhosen.

I can honestly say that the guy behind me out performed The Reverend Mother on Climb Every Mountain and hit the falsetto high note with aplomb.

We were given bags containing plastic edelweiss - cards to waive and positively encouraged to bark when Rolf the Postman was on screen.

All in all, a great night.

We even had a complete herd of guys dressed up as goats - and yes they looked lonely..

And there's me thinking that sheep were the ungulate of choice for that type of thing.

The city that......

Ahh, The City that Never Sleeps - New York, New York

The City that works - Chicago

But here, we have "The City by the Bay" - which is really obvious and doesn't do it justice - we really need a better name and, to be honest, to import some things to make it more, well, interesting.

So I have been thinking of both - and have some alternatives which I can put up for nomination.

The City that Always Eats - there are more restaurant tables here than residents - so the urban myth goes. Despite having a higher calorie intake than an Eskimo on an a Seal hunt, they never put on any weight - but they do jog a lot - and ride bikes and work out - and this all gives you something to look at on the walk to work in the morning.

The City of Dogs - the woof woof type - There are towns and Cities on the East Coast of the UK where scientists have isolated the Ugly Gene - a product of 25 generations of interbreeding which has resulted in a population with over sized ears and a surplus of fingers and toes - but here there seems to be more canines than people - and they are all in such good condition, sleek and slim - in Castro there is even a great gay doggie Couture outlet called Best of Breed where you can accessorise your best friend.

The Pretty City -well it is and you can't really argue with that - almost Mediterranean, with pastel colored housing and a pleasant climate with just a hint of seasoning (not too much winter weather - just a chill to let you know that it's November). And the sunsets from the Apartment are truly wonderful - see above. Really, though, to qualify properly as Mediterranean, San Francisco needs to be dirtier.



The City that Always Sweeps - this could be it - every morning, bands of 'wombles' sweep and wash down the sidewalks outside their burrows - it really is very nice and there is not a fag end in sight - OK maybe the occasional fag end but never a cigarette end, catch my drift. It seems a very sensible and logical thing to make the business proprietors responsible for their patch of the sidewalk. And of course in the City that always Sweeps - you can get anything cleaned - see what I mean:
I dropped by - but they don't spring clean Nobs, they just clean Nob Springs - and as I always keep mine scrupulously hygienic - I had no need. But if you know anyone that needs their Nob Spring cleaning - then drop it in before 9am and you can pick it up at 4.

But there is still something missing and it's taken me 6 months to work out what it is - no blue you see. No blue plaques.

In London, where my old boss and friend is spending a year, you can wander aimlessly for hours 'collecting' the English Heritage Blue plaques on the buildings - strictly limited, you have to be over 100 years old or been dead for 20 years (not much fun) - have lived in the house for a significant period be a person recognisable to a "well informed passer by" or "internationally significant" - And - only one plaque per person.

So, if you are in London - go blue plaque hunting- In SF, drop your nob off and watch the sunset - aaah, pretty (sunset not nob).

Cable Cars are like Marmite ......

So what has something that you spread on toast and a wooden box on rails got in common? ....

Well ....... you either love Marmite or you hate it ....... and Cable Cars conjure up similar feelings...

Cable Cars rumble majestically up hill and down, carrying whooping Americans, serious Germans, grinning Brits and the occasional local. Whilst gripping onto the outside rail, the close proximity of the other passengers makes starting a conversation rather easy, e.g. "can you please stop whacking my head with your camcorder", or, "Where did you have a nice garlic meal last night?" A great many tourists ask some really dumb questions, like, "Where's the engine?". I take great delight in informing them that the cable runs underneath the road a steady 9 miles an hour, and the driver chappy clamps onto this wire with his big leaver thingy ...... they now think I'm a Tour Guide, and start asking me where the best places to eat are, and what should they see whilst they're in town for a whole day!!!! (must be a cruise line tourist!)

I've been to the Cable Car Museum (which is jolly interesting and absolutely free) and also houses the 'power house' that drives the cables. I learnt that when Andrew Smith Hallidie (a Brit), saw a horrible accident one damp summer day in 1869, which resulted in 5 horses tumbling to their death down a slippery, cobbled street in San Francisco, he decided to invent something to prevent a re-occurrence ...... the Cable Car Line. Being in the wire rope business, he put his know-how to use, and the first car system was opened in 1873.

Now getting on and off these wonderful contraptions can be a bit tricky ..... especially with some of the grumpy cable car drivers currently working on the routes. Common phrases barked at the passengers are,"Take off that back pack", "move all the way inside", "no standing in the yellow area", "two people between each post only", and my particular favorite, "no room ... get the next car" (when there's clearly a gap between the portly German gentlemen and the young women in shorts and a vest top, wishing she'd packed a jumper!!!) The guys on the Hyde/Mason & Powell lines tend to be more fun than the guys on the California line. Still, I can understand some monotony as the conductor of the California/Van Ness Car informs the umpteenth passenger that "No, this car does not go to Fisherman's Wharf!!!"

I've met some lovely people on the 10 minute ride downtown. One old boy spoke at me the whole trip, however, he didn't have any teeth, and trying to understand him was a bit difficult. Another women told me all about her many health problems (she's usually riding the car downtown to see her doctor).

Now motorists are not permitted to over-take a stationary cable car (risk of flattening a disembarking tourist!) When a car does this cardinal sin, the driver and conductor go loopy and ring their bells for all it's worth. Also motorists should not drive on the cable lines. This misdemeanor is again rewarded with yelling and rapid ringing of the bell.

Talking of the bell ..... this is used by the driver and conductor to communicate. The conductor (or brake man) will 'ding' his bell twice to signify that all passengers are safely on board and the driver can move off. One 'ding' means that someone has requested a stop, and the driver will reply with a similar 'ding' to indicate that he's got the message. The driver will also use his bell to entertain the passengers, by dinging a rhythm and gigging up and down (much to everyone's delight). Some of them a rather good, and they hold the 'Cable Car Bell Ringing Contest' each year, in Union square (check it out on YouTube!)

Cable Cars can be smelly, noisy, very uncomfortable and you run the risk of picking up any transmittable disease. You either love 'em you hate 'em ..... much the same as marmite (which, by the way, I absolutely adore!!!!)

My Girl..

A very sad day - as Rosie has gone back to London, and I miss her - even though she's only been gone an hour.

I think she had fun -Giant Redwood Forrest's - the delights of the Haight and Mission district, cycling in Golden Gate Park, Somoma, Nob Hill Cafe, Dinner at the Top of The Mark, the best burgers in the world at Taylor's, Fishermans Wharf (it has to be done), Alcatraz, Cable car rides and she and Jack went flying in the bi-planes and did the aerobatics.

Much braver than I - MOMA (museum of Modern Art) - Castro, Yerba Buena Gardens and getting soaked at Ocean Beach, watching the sunset and paddling in the Pacific, ice cream in Sausolito.

And we missed so much that we should have done

and we both miss her and Jack, very very much

The locals are shrinking...

They must be - there can be no other explanation. No longer the largest nation on earth - in any respect

The Dutch are taller, on average - the Brits have more per capita debt (what we spent all the money on is a mystery) and the Chinese have more of most things, except Children per couple (which as you know is limited to one 'little emperor' per couple).

But, like Willey Coyote, we (the residents of America) are fighting back. If you can't win - change the rules - so the most things are getting smaller.

I used to be able to buy a large size shirt - and now it's XL. I took it home andcompared it and it was a good 2" (centimetres don't travel well and haven't made it here) smaller all round.

The Gas (petrol) is smaller too - the American gallon is really only a thimble full.

I have also grown a shoe size - which was impressive. Sally has grown 2 or 3.

A man who takes a size 9 here is at risk of having sand kicked in his face when he goes to the beach.

The toilets are smaller too - and unbelievably close to the ground -but equipped with such a ferocious vacuum flush that no sensible adult would ever sit and flush for fear of being neutered.

All this can make life slightly confusing - never quite sure if anything will fit - one place where this doesn't work is in restaurants where nothing is small -

Which is odd - because you'd expect the Americans to be catching up on the Dutch by the way they eat, the Brits by the way they spend money - but the Chinese will win the breeding battle no matter what.

Les hommes sauvage - The wild men....

So no gay areas here - sorry - no grey areas here - 'we the people' are either for or against - and at least you know where you stand

Knowing "where you stand" is important - and like most of the populous - the guy pictured left has a definite opinion.

Often wrong, but never in doubt - this seems the motto of the middle class that have difficulty seeing beyond the fact that they are fortunate (IE lucky) to be white and a stockholder in some start up that will be bigger than google and which - no credit to their own talent or ingenuity - will give them a bigger bank balance than their neighbor.

But all isn't lost - there is always the Glide....

The Glide is wonderful and an oasis of hope amidst a desert of greed and one up-manship - I like the Glide, I like the Glide immensely. (Glide Memorial - Google it and check it out)

The Glide are Methodists - and although I have little truck with religion - I like Methodists a lot too.

It's a simple thing - rather than dress up in pearls on Sunday and preach about the "Good Samaritan" they actually get of their spotty behinds and go DO something.

It doesn't have to be much - serve food - arrange doctors appointments - but its is action and I like action and dislike spin and "compassion"

So if you want to do something about it - then do it - stop talking and do - if you don't care then that's fine too - just don't be a hypocrite - just look the homeless in the eye and tell them " I don't give a shit 'cos I have cash and you don't"

And finally - if you like singing - then the Glide has no equal - it is really rather special.

In the land of milk and honey - and where everyone talks about the next IPO and making it big in stock options, it's surprising that you don't meet many software millionaires that are black.

Statistically this is improbable.

It's a funny old world-
so long as you are white, middle class and have "options".

But that isn't necessarily all true

I live and work with some special people (OK some are special needs, but we'll leave them out for now).
It's a mix, you see, it's not really any different from the UK - where the city types and bankers say Yah rather then Yeah - and the 'chavs' wear burberry before they go out for a pleasant evening of hooliganism and mugging.

At least - in the USA - and San Francisco in particular -you know where you stand

..............................some of the time.

Breakfast in America...

Breakfast in America - wonderful album, everyone has a copy - but that's not the point - the point is that over here, Breakfast in America is so, well, tiring.

Frequently I can turn up at work exhausted by the seemingly endless decisions that have to be made whilst the lymbic system is still fast asleep.

'And how would you like your eggs' - such a simple question that has multiple answers - sunny side up - over easy - over medium - poached-scrambled ....

In the UK it's just eggs.

I never realised that there were so many options- but the service is usually good - even though the sense of humor is lacking and sarcasm hasn't made the trans Atlantic trip.

You see, there are so few practitioners of the art of irony that it's very disappointing.

I'd like my eggs breach birthed blunt end first - I'd like them cracked in mid air by a Japanese samurai with a sword that has a name - I'd like them cooked over a flame fueled by 100 year old vodka and I'd like them fried in melted goose fat imported from France.

I'd like my orange juice squeezed from fruit that has grown on the tallest tree and I'd like it served in a lead crystal glass that was used by Louis XIV.

Geraldine, the waitress, (from texas - so the badge on her breast says) didn't understand.

However you alone know that I am joking - I am nearly 50 - so I take the 'all bran' with extra raisins and a glass of prune juice.

I am a slave to my rectum - much like the guys down castro ...... but that's another story..


Supertramp never had this problem.

After the bendy bits.....onward to Yosemite

Admittedly there are few things in this vast country that will truly impress - especially of you've travelled a bit. I am now at 127 countries visited - so the dear old USA is up against some stiff competition.

But like the girl with the curl, when she's good she's very very good - and when she's bad she's horrid.

Yosemite is the best of the best - in a surprisingly sterile sort of way. The scenery is just unimaginable - it's fantasy stuff and so beautiful that it does take your breath away. A bit like Audrey Hepburn (best Belgian ever) and Archie Leach's (Cary Grant to you) love child- beauty with style.

Even though I'd heard that it would be dangerous - and I'd packed a kitchen knife to protect us from Hill Billies (have seen Deliverance)- we were quite safe - unlike in Oakland...

At Yosemite the wildlife is surprisingly absent - apart from the Chinese girl in pink flip flops - we saw a bird, a squirrel and a deer. No bears - which was OK - there were signs that "speed kills bears" which is probably true - they should stick to milder narcotics if you ask me.

In any event, the bears are scary BIG - and it's never been discovered if they are a separate species or not. You see, separate species cannot produce offspring - which is why all dogs are the same species - and can interbreed - even though a pekenese mounting a ridgeback is more amusing than scientifically interesting- it is true that they can if they want to.

The mystery of whether bears are a seperate species can be solved easily - Bears are so BIG that nothing in it's right mind - not even a drunken sailor on a Saturday night would fuck with a bear - especially one on speed. Bears are rare because even boy bears and girl bears are scared of each other.

We stayed at the Ahwanhee - which is the only hotel in the valley - and pretty impressive it was too - as was the bill. The food is average - the waiters surly - but it's easy to park and in the most beautiful spot on the planet - nearly. The charges are quite frankly mad - more mammals on speed work in the marketing department at the Ahwanhee than roam the countryside. THE queen stayed here with Phil in 1983 - I put THE in capitals because A queen could mean any number of people from the Castro - and SHE is a wonder and the only real one- the Dutch and Danes know that theirs aren't 'real' and will not be offended. The French, of course, killed all theirs - and the Americans all think they are God (or His Gift) or invent their own royalty, so they'll be fine too. I met the queen once - she smelled of roses and Phil smelled off olives and Charles wouldn't let me sniff him - obviously I'm not his type...

Where was I....Yosemite.

We went for a 'Hike' - this isn't really like hiking in the UK - it's more of a stroll with Starbucks - Hiking in the UK means struggling into a gale force headwind, surrounded by low cloud - all to a mediocre pub that serves fizzy beer and Chicken Kiev's.

Hiking here meant a gentle wander under perfect blue skies, in comfortable temperatures to picturesque mirror lake (Very imaginative name...see pic)- and back to the impeccably rustic if overpriced hotel.

Along the way you can look at the wildlife - marvel at the serious Hikers complete with all the kit that you can buy at "Outdoor World" and see the Chinese girl in the pink flip flops. You can also see fat people on bikes - though none had "I L*ve Cock" painted on crossbar like the girl on BART - you get a different class of weirdo at Yosemite - more upmarket and outdoorsy. They really loved the real log fires at the Ahwanhee - I don't think that they have ever seen a fire that isn't remote controlled and powered by methane.

We headed back via Richmond where a 15 year old girl had been gang raped for 2 hours at her school - now you see what I mean - when she's bad she's horrid.

So a great day - no bears, on speed or otherwise - but the scenery showed up - and to be honest that was more than enough.

Richard

Much is good....but more is better (The drive to Yosemite)

They like things simple over here, only having three rules for life -


Rule one, whatever you have - make sure it's the bigger than any one else's.
Rule two, if you can't have a big one - make sure that you have more of them than anyone else.
Rule three - make sue you put all your 'things' together in one place - it makes them easier to find - and also much easier to show off - which is the whole point

You see this everywhere - huge "malls" with the same selection of massive hyper stores - my own favorite are the car cities where dealerships the size Switzerland sell every model of car ever made.


The cars are all, obviously, crap - even the Japanese and European models as they have been localised - replacing the suspension with cotton wool and disconnecting the steering column from the wheels so that cornering is done with more luck than judgement.


Anyway this is no surprise - there are no corners and no roundabouts. Between San Francisco and Yosemite you can take the straightest road that was ever built - even though the Romans never got this far - straight and boring - the 132 goes on for hours - through cities like Modesto - which isn't modest at all and seems to have been disgorged by passing Aliens into the middle of a flat and desolate wasteland of almond trees and bugger all else.


There is no need for suspension or handling - it's a point and go kinda thing. But God - being smart, decided to put all the bendy bits together in one place (rules 2 and 3 above) and then put them all 3,000 feet up a mountain.


Without doubt this is the scariest piece of road ever designed - even though it is also probably the most beautiful.
The picture really doesn't do it justice, but there is that "oh my god" moment when you come round the first corner. It also adheres to the three rules (above) and explains why American cars don't "do" corners - they just don't have to unless you come to highway 49.

We stopped for gas (petrol - not intestinal wind) at Mariposa -funny little place that seems to be inhabited by 4x4 truck driving families called something like Earl and Pearl, with kids Chuck and Petals.

The 4x4 seems a really smart invention and, despite the fact that they would have their own post code in the UK - I don't understand why something so useful hasn't caught on "internationally" (IE outside the US)

So - much is good - more is better - and be sure you get to show off and brag about it by putting all the good stuff in one place - Highway 49 "respect"

Note from the passenger ........

Richard's description of this journey is accurate, however, it was written from the perspective of the driver ...... being the passenger/navigator was, how can I put it ......, THE MOST NERVE RACKING EXPERIENCE OF MY LIFE!!!!!

My driver likes to navigate the roads by steering with one arm ..... doesn't he understand that God gave him two for a reason! As we began our 'scenic' drive, the hair-pin bends put me in a slight meditative mood .... this was quickly followed by nausea, and finally.... sheer terror. I tried so hard to keep my mouth shut, though my body was rigid, finger nails dug deep into the seat and my feet making little leaps as I tried in vain to reach that imaginary brake. So at last, whilst going round a 90 degree bend, with a 3000 foot drop (off of my side I might add!!), and the tyres screeching, I did let out a "Jesus Christ Richard!!" .....

It is very strange that I have thrown myself out of a perfectly good aircraft at 10000 feet, paraglided, and spent time in an active war zone without so much as breaking a sweat, but this particular experience left me with a racing heart rate and moist palms. I think it must be something to do with 'being in control' ..... and maybe having a driver that believes that two are better than one .......

Sally

These people don't know how to commute.......

So the bay bridge is broken - an "I" beam snapped, part of an earlier high quality repair, causing mayhem for Americans - and a barely noticeable inconvenience to a seasoned London commuter. At worst I was peeved - one level up from miffed in the scale of things.

I suppose that I should admit some responsibility though - I actually traversed the aged structure a few minutes before the collapse and think that it may have been the fact that I am eating too many pies that overloaded the damn thing.

In any event, the fact that the bridge was out meant that the local populous had to abandon their tin boxes (complete with Starbucks in hand) and get on public transport like the rest of us poor slobs.

You would think that the world had ended - the tube (BART) was exceptionally busy - there must have been ooh - 6 or 7 people in each carriage. Of course, many seemed to find this all too much, poor dears, and had to "work" from home....... the roads and other bridges were quieter than normal

Mind you - the commute was more interesting. In addition to the usual compliment of crazies talking to themselves and screaming MutherF****r at random intervals - I got to stand next to a very pretty girl who had brought her bicycle - she must be a student at Berkley.

Stencilled on the crossbar was I LOVE C*CK - what a nice girl

I must take her home to meet mother.

In the end it's the tramps that I felt sorry for - usually they have the carriages to themselves and use the BART as a kind of constantly moving dormitory- they do the same with the buses (MUNI). I don't mind this - although a guy was found dead after the bus had parked up for 6 hours - I thought that he was just being aloof - at least he was nice and quiet and didn't call me a mutherF**ker.

That's the nice thing about the dead people on the buses - they keep themselves to themselves.

Richard

Project Homeless Connect - 28th October 2009

Today I volunteered through One Brick, to be a 'client guide' at the Project Homeless Connect event. This is an annual event held at the Bill Graham Auditorium in the Civic Centre in San Francisco. Various organisations donate their time (and people/produce) to this project, such as legal advice, medical treatment, vets, hairdressers, opticians, dentists, food distribution etc. The homeless are invited to attend, and can visit as many of the organisations as they wish during the day, all for no charge. My job was to guide clients through the hall to visit the organisations they needed help from.

I must admit that I was a little apprehensive about attending, as I had the typical preconception that all the clients would be dirty, smelly and dumb ...... how wrong was I!!! I met loads of people who had just fallen on bad times, and had ended up without a home. It was a real 'eye-opener' to the plight of so many normal, average everyday people, who through bad luck and bad planning had fallen off the radar of American society.

Amongst others, I met a great guy called Brian. He was in a wheelchair, but had a cheerful attitude and was definitely game for a laugh! I helped him get is photo ID, his eyes checked, some reading glasses and a nice pack of food. He was lovely company, and I thoroughly enjoyed spending some time with him.

It's hard not to draw comparisons with the UK, as (as far as I'm aware), most of the services being provided at this event would be free to those without a job and on benefits. America is currently debating the subject of health care and whether or not to provide it for all of it's citizens - not just those who can afford it!! I know what I think, but hey .... I'm biased ..

This volunteer event was hard work, but surprisingly rewarding. I will look at homeless people in a different light, but as Richard reminds me, you can't help all of them ..... (I will give Brian, a few bucks if I see him though!)

Sally

Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines ....

It was a beautiful sunny weekend in early September, and Richard and I were debating what to do with our Sunday........ We had both spotted some old planes being displayed by a small airfield on our way to Sonoma some time back, and thought they might take people up in these planes (especially if we asked very nicely!)

Onto the internet I went, and lo and behold I found the Vintage Aircraft Company .... and sure enough, they did flights and 'experiences' in old aeroplanes. No booking was necessary, so Richard and I headed off on Sunday for our 'experience' in an open cockpit, bi-plane!!!!

Now I was very excited, but as we neared the airfield, I noticed that Richard and gone very quiet, and was looking slightly green!!

We parked the car, and were immediately confronted with a beautiful red bi-plane ..... I began to imagine the Red Baron doing dastardly things to his enemies and defying the laws of gravity with his shinny red plane ..... Then I looked at Richard .... definitely greener!!!!

The people at the airfield were really friendly, and we duly handed over the cash on donned our skull caps ready for the off. They did say that for an extra $50 the pilot would perform barrel rolls, loop the loops, inverted dives and the like, but we thought that this would be over doing it somewhat on our first adventure into the air. Our little red plane was a 1942 Boeing Stearman with a wingspan of 32'2". It was powered by 450 horsepower Pratt & Whitney R-985, with a cruise speed of 125 mph (are you impressed with my aeronautical knowledge????)

Richard and I climbed into the front seat of the plane, and the pilot sat in the back. We were taught three hand signals:-1) thumbs up (go faster), 2) hands horizontal (fly level) and 3) thumbs down (for GET ME BACK ON THE GROUND ..... NOW!!!!!)

As the engine started (which is positioned right in front of our noses) the little plane shook into life, and I was very glad of the ear plugs kindly supplied by the lady who helped us into our very fetching head attire. We headed down the runway, and I must admit that I didn't even notice we had taken off until we started to bank around, and climb into the cloudless, blue sky.

I glanced over to Richard, and was glad to see that he had a big grin on his face, which was no longer that greenie colour. We climbed to about 3000 feet (yes, we had all the instruments in front of us!!!) and proceeded to take a tour of the wine country. It was breath-taking. We did the full circuit (lasting 45 minutes), finishing off with coming over the mountains, and then down past Kenwood to head back the the airfield. The feeling of being out in the open, that high up was truly memorable.

Again, I hardly felt the landing, it was more like a soft bump onto a thickly piled carpet (well done to the pilot!!).

Richard and I had a great time, and are now seriously contemplating going back up and paying the extra $50 for the aerobatics ....... well, maybe we'll just think about it a bit more .....

...I want to be a..............tree

OK -so she's right - I was green, but only because I wanted to be a tree - let me explain..

You see the 1942 Boeing Stearman was built only 39 years after two bicycle salesman had first soared in the air -technology in 1942 was pretty "basic" - transistors had just been invented and Alan Touring was just inventing a computer the size of a small house. Mankind was pushing the boundaries.

Which is why the Boeing had pedals not unlike child's pedal car - and I could reach them - this seemed to piss the pilot right off...

But trees - that's what I was thinking about - you see trees have roots - and if you believe Darwin - I had them once some 500 million years ago - I could do with them now - preferably big strong ones growing out of my arse. This would allow me, like a giant pink redwood, to anchor myself securely to the ground - I really needed a large diameter tap root right now.

As for paying the pilot $50 to turn upside down and get puke in your hair - he obviously belongs in an asylum.

Now, Sal enjoyed it - so she obviously comes from a different branch of the tree of life if you see what I mean - that or she has roots - will have a look when she nods off later..... will let you know.

Bay to Breakers (aka, Wear Silly Costume, Walk a Bit and Get Very Drunk)

Since 1912 tens of thousands of people have gathered in San Francisco to see the world's largest footrace, as more than 70,000 costume-clad runners and walkers traverse the 8 or so miles from the Bay side of the city, across to the Pacific Ocean.







Well this is what the tourist book says on the Bay to Breakers event ..... what Richard and I witnessed was something a little more interesting .....




The serious runners went off first, and we thought that this was going to be a bit boring, then came the rest of the bunch. It must be something about the climate in California, but the natives seem to try and find any excuse to take their clothes off, and parade their bits for all to see. Now I'm not a prude, but there is something a little unnerving about walking next to a man, proudly swinging his John Thomas for all he's worth. You can't help it, but we got some old fashioned looks as we began pointing and exclaiming to each other at the size, colour and shape as they came into view. One particular one looked like he'd dipped it in white paint!








Some of the costumes and themes were very funny though ..... I particularly admired the guy who was dressed in white, with a waste paper basket on his head with the word "Women" written on the front. He was carrying a toilet seat with him and a roll of loo paper. At regular intervals he would squat down, place the toilet seat on his lap, and hold the loo roll to the side ...... I didn't see any ladies take him up on his offer, but full marks for effort!

Talking of toilets ...... there had been a news report that 'public urinating would not be tolerated at this year's event.' Ha!!!! It was happening all over the place. One poor creature jumped off her push bike, muted a "really sorry", then proceeded to pull down her pants and squat under an adjacent tree to where we were lounging in the sun. Some five minutes later, the poor girl was still squatting .....

Great event!