Grand Theft Punto

Quite a few weeks ago now Shelley and I went up to Cambridge to visit (cousin) Jo and (cousin-in-law) Duncan. The plan was to do some punting, which, I soon discovered, is not betting on the puppies, but traveling around in a flat-bottomed boat with a large stick.

That was the simple plan; however, by the time we got up to Cambridge we were met with some terrible (if baffling) news: Jo and Duncan's punt had been stolen and taken for a joy-ride. Reeeeeeally? Who steals a punt? And who takes it for a joy-ride? Apparently that's Cambridge's version of Grand Theft Auto. (Soon to be released on Play Station 3, Grand Theft Punto: you are an unassuming university Fellow and you have to steal as many punts as possible before lectures start...but why?)

Fortunately, by the time Duncan visited the police station the boat had been reported found, in the backyard of nice man who lived nearby. So Duncan and I grabbed the long pole and set off to retrieve the punt. After fishing out numerous Fosters cans, half-eaten strawberries, Champagne corks, a rain-sodden sweater, and other debris, that punt was ready to roll, so we set off down the river and picked up the others.

It really was a very nice day, and punting definitely is the way to see Cambridge. Both Shelley and I had a go at the stick, and I have to say we were pretty good. Honestly, we were frighteningly good. I'm not surprised Shelley was so good, seeing as she was Skipper of her sailing team in high school. Ah yes, no matter how hard I try, I just can't help imagining her in the garb of 'Skipper' from Gilligan's island.

The perils of punting are many, and Jo, an excellent and seasoned punter from way back, was unlucky enough to encounter one of them. Sorry Jo, but that was pretty funny.

This man was startled to learn that the Cuban missile crisis had actually been averted, and that he no longer had to live in the trees.

NB: the iso setting on our camera was way up, which explains (for the most part) why our pictures are so crumby.

I Work in Windsor

I like working in Windsor. It's one of those secretly satisfying things to work in a tourist town, but not be the tourist. I get to enjoy all of the exciting touristy things, like peaking into the castle grounds from my office window, and watching the royal guard marching past our windows every day at 10.40am, then back again at 11.00am, without all of the embarrassment of being pegged as a tourist.

Okay, okay. So maybe the people in my work place see it a little differently. I do still run to the windows when I hear the band coming (but they're so jolly!) or when Prince Philip rides out of the castle grounds in his carriage (yet to capture on camera).

This week we've had the Royal Order of the Garter ceremony, and Royal Ascot to keep us on the look out. Dozens of carriages have been regularly leaving and re-entering the castle, and the Queen has been driving in a procession, along with her husband and many other Royals (Prince Philip, Prince Andrew, Princess Beatrice, Peter Phillips, Sophie, and Prince Edward to name a few) to Ascot at 1.30pm each day.

What will she be wearing today?

The view from my 'old' office... And I thought that was good?

The view from sitting at my computer.

From my closest window.

From the ground.

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Last weekend Team Lewis ventured out to the Lake District, where, along with some of Shelley's work mates, we climbed England's tallest peak: [cue kettle drums and large Chinese cymbal]

(((((( SCAAAAAAAFEEEEEEELL PIIIIIIIIIKE )))))).

Which wasn't all that tall (only 970-odd-metres).

But it was cold. Oh, how it was cold. To say I was surprised at how cold it was is to say the Japanese were surprised at the U.S response to Pearl Harbor (what did you think was going to happen?).

As you can see, we took a fairly limited arsenal of warm clothing, which did not mix well with the sub-zero, misty morass at the top of the mountain. I lamented my 1 pound purchase of TK-MAX gloves, and was thankful to Helen for spending a lot more on my custom-made beanie. My warm head really lorded it over the rest of my body.

We had some stunning views on the way up the mountain, but alas, once at the peak we saw nothing but white. And the mist can really play tricks with your eyes; believe it or not, this is actually Shelley.

Going down the mountain was a lot more pleasant, particularly seeing as we were heading for what I had fantasised about all day: dinner at The Inn. Shoulder of lamb - delicious - then back to our tent for a warm and comfortable slumber...BOMP-BOW! Wrong; the second part about the slumbering did not happen.

See, I failed to pack a ground mat, so our air mattress cooled down like a slab of marble in an open field. To compound this, I also failed to pack sleeping bags, so as our air mattress sucked the will to live from one side, our thin, synthetic doona gave out free samples of body heat on the other. Well done doona; don't come crying to me next time you need something that doonas need.

Of course, we woke up feeling refreshed, and ready to take on the world. But we are still waiting for that excellent sleep you are supposed to get after climbing a mountain. Maybe it was the universe's way of saying, You can't really call that a mountain.

Special thanks to Bryce Groves for some of the excellent photos we stole from him.

The Highest Peak in England

Julian and I are going on a camping trip this weekend, with some work colleagues. We're going up to the Lake District, to climb England's highest peak, Scafell Pike.

The past two weeks, we have enjoyed 27 degree days, continuous sunshine, and best of all, we could get away without taking a jumper or jacket with us when we went out.

This morning, Richard (the organiser of the event) sent us this weather report:


Wish us luck.

Thorpe Park

Last Weekend Shelley and I visited Thorpe Park with some of her friends from work. (Or, more accurately, I gate-crashed one of her work social events.)

I was not expecting to have a whole lot of fun, as I am rarely amused by amusement parks, and I don't usually mix well with rides, but this turned out to be a hoot.

The day got off to a poor start, with heavy rain falling for the first hour and a half. Having failed miserably in the umbrella-bringing department, we found ourselves in a cornered market for ponchos (long-time fans, first-time buyers). We could not justify buying two ponchos at 5 GBP a pop, so we decided to make-do with one. The result - a pantomime camel, which was actually a whole lot more fun (apart from having to co-ordinate our steps with military-styled chants).

Now, I have spent the better part of my life being scared of theme park rides; however, once I got over the sickening spectacle of the first ride (Saw), I don't think I closed my eyes for the rest of the day, which is saying a lot for this big girl.

The day took another turn for the worse when I decided to partake in KFC, donuts and coffee before jumping on a ride that just would not stop swinging me up and down in the air. Milk was a poor choice.

I really like these spinning-tube-on-river-rapid rides, because for some reason (perhaps it's because I am the chosen one) it's never me who gets wet. This time is was Dennis (pictured), who chose to sit in the seat that went under a waterfall in a darkened cavern.


Again, milk was a poor choice.