Adventures with Elsa (other princesses are available)

One of the unexpected side effects of being a grandparent of a five-year-old girl is exposure to the full array of Disney princesses. And yes, I know that Elsa is a queen, not a princess, but you know what I mean, right?

Our granddaughter is seldom happier than when she has a flowing dress to wear or, at least, she has been up until now. There is an emerging “threat” to this comfortable state of affairs.

For she has discovered KPop Demon Hunters, this summer’s unexpected hit. They don’t really fit with the “princess vibe” and it offers a challenge to a culturally challenged grandfather such as myself.

I’d familiarised myself with Frozen, and can do “Let It Go” jokes with the best of them. Moana was easy enough, as who can’t empathise with a giant crab with a magpie-like attraction to everything shiny? And it’s interesting how Disney has produced a series of films with strong female characters over recent years.

A Korean film about a girl band fighting demons masquerading as a boy band is a bit more of a stretch when your musical tastes tend to feature the gamut of late sixteenth/early seventeenth century madrigals (confusingly, the name of the family in Encanto). The tunes seem catchy enough though, and whilst the material might feel a bit more young teenager appropriate, our granddaughter has memorised the lyrics well enough to sing along on car journeys.

Rumi, Mira and Zoey are the members of HUNTR/X (pronounce the / as an “I”), who sing hit songs and secretly fight demons (I admit, the title is a bit of a giveaway). They are, naturally, strong personalities in control of their own careers - their male manager is more comic relief than Svengali.

Please don’t ask me about the plot - I’ve so far managed to avoid watching more than excerpts - but the news that a second film is being planned with much merchandise due to hit high streets soon indicates that the concept has been wildly successful. So, if you haven’t encountered KPop Demon Hunters yet, rest assured you probably will…

India - the centre of the known world (once upon a time)...

I always used to joke that, whilst Britons were painting themselves blue and calling it the height of fashion, my Indian ancestors were building a great civilisation. It turns out that there may have been an element of truth to it. 

But let's go back to the beginning...

Ros had received an invitation to a lecture by the Scottish historian William Dalrymple, linked to the launch of his new book, "The Golden Road - how Ancient India Transformed The World", in West Kensington. Normally, she probably wouldn't accept such an offer, especially as Parliament hadn't returned yet but, given my heritage, she asked if I'd be interested in a trip to London. And, perhaps because I don't get out as much as I ought to, I said yes.

Greater Anglia offer a "London Evening Out" ticket, which allows a traveller to go down to London in the afternoon and come back the same day for a very reasonable £27 (£41 first class, should you fancy a bit more space and leg room), and so that's what we did last Tuesday, heading down to Liverpool Street and across to Notting Hill Gate before taking a leisurely stroll from there to West Kensington.

The Bhavan is, apparently, the largest centre for Indian classical arts in the United Kingdom, located in what was originally the local parish church before undergoing a radical rebuild and reconfiguration twenty years ago. The old nave is now the Mountbatten Auditorium, and it was there that the lecture took place in front of a very engaged, and predominantly Indian, audience.

The lecture itself was, even for an audience more familiar with Indian history than most, something of an eyeopener, propounding a theory that, far from the Silk Road being the preeminent channel of trade between east and west, it was in fact India that served as the primary trading partner of the Roman Empire. As an aside, it was noted that the Silk Road as a concept was the invention of a German writer in the nineteenth century, and that the term only became widely used after his works were translated in the last century.

So, what is the evidence? Well, you'd expect to find hoards of Roman coins across Europe, and perhaps around the Black Sea. And, if there was major trade between China and the Romans, in China. But, there are no significant finds there. In India, on the other hand, major finds of Roman coins have been made. And William Dalrymple offered us plenty of other examples of sculpture and art which point towards significant, regular interaction between Indian and Roman traders in the Red Sea ports of the time.

Delivered with great verve and conviction, Dalrymple spun the threads of his story over more than an hour, to the extent that, as he finished, we concluded that we really needed to get away to catch our train rather than stay for a light supper. We did find time to purchase a signed copy of the book, which I will make time to read at some point, and I suspect that a great many will have been shifted subsequently.

I know that Jonathan Calder has also written about the book and offered more detail on the argument offered by the author, but for those of you who think of China as being the preeminent trading partner of Europe in the distant past, you might find that the book offers a rather more balanced perspective on India and its place in the ancient world. Think of it as a recommendation...

I've got a temporary library card, and I know how to use it...

As a child, I was an avid reader of books. I spent much of the summer of, I think, 1971, in the library at Notting Hill Gate, ploughing through the "Thomas the Tank Engine" series. And I still enjoy reading, assuming that I can carve out the time to do so.

But you know how it is. There's so much information, news and stuff on the internet, and it's all in the palm of your hand. And so, I spend too much time online and not enough doing the panoply of other things that I could occupy myself with.

But I can't entirely believe that this is good for me, and the internet is often a bit "short attention span", whereas a book allows an idea, plot or story to be extended, developed. And so, I found myself in the Ipswich County Library in Northgate Street yesterday afternoon, signing up for a library card.

In Creeting St Peter, we did have a library of sorts, the Mobile Library, which came to the village every fortnight at 11.45 a.m. on a Friday. Not terribly convenient for those, like me, with jobs, and if you wanted something other than the obviously limited range that a medium-sized bus could hold, you had to order it in advance and hope that they could get it onto the bus in time. Alternatively, you could travel into Stowmarket and use the library there, but I wasn't often in the town, and you really need to return books on time - are you really going to make a special trip to do that?

However, the library is now a gentle eight-minute walk away, and it's open seven days a week, so taking books out is not only viable, it's very easy. Getting a temporary borrower card was the only immediate option, as I apparently need proof of my address to obtain the full range of services (note to self, find something with both my name and address on it...). But it did allow me to borrow up to three books immediately so, I thought, let's make a start.

Accordingly, I drew out two books, "Nation" by Terry Pratchett and "Borderland: A Journey Through the History of Ukraine" by Anna Reid and took them back to the desk to be recorded and stamped out with a date stamp redolent of my days as a Senior Library Prefect at Kingsbury High School.

I've got until 12 October to return them so, if you'll excuse me...

Culture to the left of me, culture to the right of me…

I do flatter myself that I am a relatively cultured soul. That is despite the minor detail that I read little fiction, go to the cinema only on rare occasions, don’t tend to visit galleries or museums when I travel and, even when I lived in London, was hardly a devotee of the city’s vibrant cultural scene.

I do, admittedly, enjoy classical music, and travel to interesting and (often) faraway places. But I’m not a participant and, for the most part, haven’t been much of an observer either. That is, until now. With our new urban existence has come opportunities to engage with the cultural scene of our county town.

We have three theatres, two of which we’ve attended in recent weeks, there is a bit of classical music - we attended a performance of Bach’s St John Passion (admittedly, I prefer the St Matthew Passion) at Easter - and, thanks almost entirely to Ros, a few launch events at The Hold, Suffolk’s quite new archives and exhibition space.

We also have Dance East, on Ipswich’s waterfront, two multiplex cinemas within walking distance of the house, the Ipswich Institute, celebrating its 200th anniversary this year, and the Corn Exchange with its arts cinema.

However, whereas in London there are millions of tourists to support the spectrum of arts and culture, Ipswich, and Suffolk, have to be a bit more self-reliant. In other words, if you want a diverse cultural ecosystem, you have to turn up occasionally, and hand over some cash to support those who create and perform.

A key funder of the arts in rural counties is local government, and Suffolk has been no exception. So, when budget proposals from the County Council were released, proposing to axe the entire arts grant budget, there was something of a wailing and gnashing of teeth across the sector. But, more importantly, there was a strong response from the public, sufficient to persuade the Conservative administration to row back on the idea - at least for now.

But local government finances aren’t likely to get any easier in the medium term, and thus it’s necessary to find and develop other income streams, be it through fundraising or by diversification. So, for example, Eastern Angles have their Copperfield Supporters programme, which allows you to make small(ish) regular donations to support their productions and their highly regarded outreach work, taking theatre to the smaller towns and larger villages across East Anglia.

So, I suspect that I might be attending a few more events in the coming months. I ought to get out more, I suppose…

Feed me! The Little Shop of Horrors comes to Ipswich

I’ve worked within walking distance of the New Wolsey Theatre pretty much since I moved to Suffolk and yet, for no particular reason, I’d never been into it, let alone seen a performance (and it does apparently have a decent café). But we’d had a strong recommendation to go and see the touring production of “Little Shop of Horrors” and, as we were free last night, and tickets (although not many) were available, we thought, “why not?”. And I’m glad that we did, because we would otherwise have missed an incredibly spirited and utterly enjoyable show.

It's a joint production by the New Wolsey Theatre, the Hull Truck Theatre, the Octagon Theatre Bolton and Theatre by the Lake Keswick, and features just ten performers, including the drummer. And the advantage of the New Wolsey is that you're never going to be very far from the stage, so it feels strangely intimate.

I won't recount the plot, partly for spoiler reasons if you've never seen the film or the stage musical, but needless to say that there isn't a duff tune in it and you'll find yourself humming one or more tunes as you leave.

So, whilst you've missed your chance if you want to see it in Ipswich, you can catch it as follows:

• 27 March to 20 April at Theatre by the Lake, Keswick
• 24 April to 18 May at the Octagon Theatre, Bolton
• 22 May to 8 June at Hull Truck Theatre
• 18-22 June at the Theatre Royal, Windsor

And, obviously, I'd strongly recommend it.

It reminds me that there's a strong cultural life outside of London too, something that, as a Londoner relocated to Suffolk, it can be easy to be sniffy about.

The big train ride, day 3 - riding the Ostravan to an evening of light opera in Moravia…

After another astonishingly good night’s sleep, it was time to leave Germany, as I had plans. I hadn’t actually done anything about them but I did have some.

The EuroCity train from Berlin to Prague conveniently stops in Dresden, before heading up the Elbe valley. It has been a popular route for some time, no more so than during the Thirty Years War, when the locals had the misfortune to be on the main route between Saxony and Bohemia. As a result, various armies rampaged through the towns, leaving death, destruction and plague behind them. The “misery of Pirna” rather sums up the catastrophic effect of the Swedish siege of the town in 1639.

It’s a pretty run, with the Elbe on your left as you make your way to Prague. At the Czech border, the river becomes the Labe, and remains a major artery. The train, courtesy of Czech Railways, was comfortable and efficient, with a trolley service serving half-litre cans of Pilsner Urquell for €2. I limited myself to one with lunch…

The connection at Prague was as scheduled, formed by a Slovak Railways service heading for Zilina. I wasn’t going that far, not yet anyway, but whilst the Ostravan was a bit delayed by engineering work, I made it to the furthest corner of the Czech Republic without much drama.

Ostrava is the third city of the Czech Republic, to which one might respond, “so what?”. It isn’t exactly bustling, even on a Saturday night, but I did have plans. And, whilst the local composer is Janacêk, the local opera company were performing an opera by Bedrich Smetana, “The Two Widows”.

The phrase “local opera company” might evoke images of something a bit amateur, but that isn’t the case here, as the National Moravian-Silesian Theatre is what a conurbation with a population of 500,000 should be able to support. And they’ve got a gorgeous performing space…

I bought myself a ticket online, a front row seat in the Gallery - priced at 500Kč, a very reasonable £17 for the best seats in the house. And whilst my Czech is wholly non-existent, the fact that it was being subtitled in English was an unexpected bonus. Why that should be is anyone’s guess, but a confused tourist should never refuse such a courtesy.

“Dve Vdovy” is a fairly light-hearted tale, based on a one-act farce written by Mauritius-born novelist and playwright Jean Pierre Félicien Mallefille. Nobody dies, over-dramatically or otherwise, and there is a happy ending, which is nice. Occasionally, performers would appear offstage, and the acting was more than respectable, something that I value in opera.

All in all, a perfectly charming evening and, if you’re ever in Ostrava, do see if there is a performance on at the theatre. If nothing else, you’ll enjoy the theatre building itself, and the quality of the performance will be high.

I walked back to my hotel through a surprisingly deserted city centre. If the locals don’t come out on a Saturday night, where are they? Admittedly, this may have something to do with the curious fact that restaurant kitchens appear to close at 9 p.m. But I had a song in my heart and joy in my soul. Life was alright…

Welcome to #allthestations… Liechtenstein…

Morning found me at a self-service hotel buffet, with the only staff in sight restocking and clearing away - low-paid staff are clearly kept to a minimum in Liechtenstein. But I had plans. First, a walk down to the river, stopping at the Rhinepark Stadion, home of the mighty FC Vaduz and the not-so-mighty Liechtenstein national football team, before heading for the Altebrucke, a wooden covered bridge spanning the Rhine. It would have been churlish not to walk to Switzerland and I didn’t hesitate to cross. Then on to Triesen to catch a bus to the southernmost community in the country, Balzers.

I hadn’t planned anything in Balzers but, as the bus approached, I spotted Schloss Gutenberg, built on a 70 metre tall rock on the edge of the town. It’s one of only two castles in the country, and was restored by a local architect at the turn of the last century before being purchased by the Government for use as a banqueting and conference venue, and is only reachable via a steep single-track cobbled road. And, whilst the castle itself isn’t open for public viewing, you can get into the garden in front of it.

I needed a drink after that climb and, most conveniently, at the bottom of the hill was a converted old American yellow school bus, serving burgers and local beer. I didn’t hesitate…

Back to Vaduz, and time to visit the Post Museum. There’s something about small countries and stamps, and Liechtenstein is no exception. You do get a free bookmark with your admission, and the stamps are interesting enough, if you like that sort of thing. The Art Museum is pretty spectacular though but then, when the ruling Prince is worth around €5 billion and has his own art collection, you perhaps shouldn’t be surprised that it’s rather good. The guest exhibit was somewhat quirky, courtesy of a Brazilian installation artist called Rivane Neuenschwander. The room full of dripping buckets was actually better than it sounds, and the “help yourself to an inspirational ribbon” was interesting, if somewhat alien to the normally orderly locals.

Vaduz has one of those slightly absurd land trains. But it was free, and I was intrigued to see what treats it might include. There was a lot of alpine music, and quite a lot of history, but little to lead you to believe that Vaduz is the sort of place that excites much. If you’ve got forty-five minutes to kill, it’s no worse than walking, but I wouldn’t suggest building your day of touristic activity around it.

I needed dinner and, for all of Vaduz’s charm, it isn’t price conscious. Ros had mentioned that she’d rather liked Feldkirch, across the Austrian border. And I just had time to get to Switzerland to catch the train… The somewhat occasional Buchs to Feldkirch service supplies Liechtenstein with its only scheduled train service and so I can now authoritatively claim that I have ridden the entire Liechtenstein rail network.

And Feldkirch did seem quite nice, at least what I got to see of it. The schnitzel was certainly worth the journey, although I deeply suspect that serving bad schnitzel is a criminal offence in Austria…

That left me with the task of getting back to my hotel, which is where the tri-national route 11 bus comes in. This leaves Feldkirch and runs the full length of Liechtenstein, via Schaan, Vaduz and Balzers, before ending its journey in Sargans, over the border in Switzerland, where you can connect to trains further into the country. And it’s a pretty ride too…

I got an early night, for I had an early start the next morning…

“Bombshell” - worth seeing, and an insight into how harassment can prevail

We had an awkward four hours or so between being “evicted” from our cosy hotel room and an appropriate time to head for the airport, and given the fairly frigid temperatures outside, catching a movie seemed like a good idea. Our choice, “Bombshell”, a dramatised version of the events which brought about the end of the career of Roger Ailes, the former head of Fox News.

Starring Charlize Theron, Nicole Kidman, Margot Robbie and John Lithgow, the film charts the story of Megyn Kelly, the news anchor who, after Roger Ailes was sued for sexual harassment by a former colleague, discovers that a series of female colleagues were similarly harassed by him, and that it wasn’t just her.

Her discreet investigation uncovers the scale of Ailes’s behaviour, whilst other colleagues, including female ones, attempt to rally support for him, pressuring co-workers to visibly declare his innocence.

Fox News is made out to be a pretty dysfunctional place, with female staff behaving out of fear of their CEO and for their potential careers, and a bunch of  men who, to put it mildly, appear to think that, even if he is guilty as charged, it doesn’t much matter.

Now there isn’t much of a plot to ruin, given that the script is based on actual events, well publicised. We know the ending and, as Roger Ailes died in 2017, most of the facts are presumed to be out there, although it should be noted that Megyn Kelly herself has indicated that the film contains material inaccuracies.

But it offers an interesting insight into how peer pressure, competition and egos can combine to repress any attempt to combat wrongdoing at the highest levels of an organisation.

And, for those who seem to think that whistle blowing is easy, or that taking on a corporate behemoth is what you should do because it is right, it should be recommended viewing. The notion that people’s actions have consequences is one thing, but what if those consequences impact on innocent parties - your co-workers, your family, your friends? Is it so easy then?

Is it a great movie? Probably not, but it is a good one. Will it appeal to those with a fascination with politics, the media and where the two collide? It probably will.

And I am reminded that we really ought to go to the movies more often...

Cabaret night - Needham Market style...

Three times a year, the Barrandov Opera holds a short series of gala evenings and Ros and I usually attend one of them. Now I’d be the first to admit that opera is not entirely my first musical choice, but the opportunity to hear emerging talent from around the world in little old Needham Market is not one that can be missed.

And so, last night, with friends, we were there for a night of culture, with a Serb soprano, Polish mezzo-soprano, Korean tenor and Polish baritone, singing a selection of arias, accompanied at the piano by Peter Bailey, the one constant over the years.

I’d also admit that the image of opera as consisting of robust, slightly immobile people singing about absurdly ludicrous plot twists is one that has stuck with me - opera can feel like it’s being done to you from a distance. But, at the Barrandov, set out dinner style, with the performers moving amongst you, gives a completely different feel to the thing. And, as was the case last night, when the performers actively engage with the audience, and give the impression that they are utterly relaxed and enjoying themselves, it brings home to you that music is as much about context as it is content.

Our guests had heard of the Barrandov Opera, but how one gets tickets is not entirely obvious - there is a website but numbers are very limited (about 150 per evening), and regulars like ourselves tend to book more than a year in advance. They were, quite reasonably, expecting a stage, so when, during the opening number, the soprano wandered down a flight of stairs into the audience, laid her hand on our friend’s shoulder and lingered for a few moments whilst she sang, it was clear that this wasn’t your normal concert experience.

The performance is broken into three parts, between each of which part of a buffet supper is served - nothing overtly complex, salads, quiche, salmon and local ham carved from the bone, plus lots of dessert and a cheese board should one be so inclined.

There’s a bar, so you can ensure that you’re suitably refreshed, with quite reasonable bar prices none of your Royal Opera House “how much!” sort of thing.

And there’s no sound system, what they sing is what you get, but as you’re never more than twenty yards away from the action, and opera singers can really project, it is opera in the raw.

So, if you happen to be free in mid-April, mid-September, or the weekend before Christmas next year, and you’re in the area, you might want to sort out your tickets now...

It's cold, wet and decidedly south...

It was time to leave the warmth of Santiago behind, for the next stage of the adventure had arrived, and a three hour flight brought me to Punta Arenas, the major town of Chilean Patagonia.

The vista was, in truth, a bit bleak and austere, as the mountains are running out by this point, and the endless wind tends to discourage anything taller than a shrub. But then, it's the furthest south that I've ever been, beating Invercargill, New Zealand, and remembering what Orkney is like, there is something of a similarity there too.

The hotel was an oddity, looking like a small piece of Las Vegas, casually dropped on the edge of the Straits of Magellan, all glass and steel, with a casino bolted on. It was very nice though, and the room was comfortable, looking out across the Straits. I had to go out though, as I was short on steps for the day. And, in a light drizzle, Punta Arenas on a Sunday afternoon was not a sight to warm the cockles.

The next day was dedicated to some light tourism, with a call into the Regional Museum. Set in a nineteenth century mansion, it's not a huge exhibit, but with some preserved rooms, it does give you an idea as to how the wealthy lived in such a remote place. In those days, Punta Arenas was only really accessible by ship, and given how volatile the oceans are around Cape Horn and Tierra del Fuego, it wouldn't always have been easy to make the journey.

Dinner was taken at a restaurant called Los Ganaderos. A parrilla, the prime attraction is meat, and in particular beef and lamb - there are a lot of sheep in Chilean Patagonia. It was excellent, the only problem was that there was too much meat, and I couldn't even begin to contemplate the third course that completed the trio of lamb.

Replete, it was time to get some sleep, for tomorrow would see a very early start...

This may be one of the things that hips were intended for...

I mentioned Eva Ayllon yesterday morning, so here she is, singing Ritmos Negros del Peru, accompanied by Inti Illimani Historico...

Perfect for those hot summer nights we so rarely get, eh?

Of quail eggs and Afro-Peruviana...

A quiet summer passes by, and with it come opportunities to broaden the mind. That has meant that it's been a bit quiet here at "Liberal Bureaucracy", but I am intending to return to the blogging, if only because it is a chance to keep people abreast of what I'm up to.

Yesterday, I learned a new skill, peeling hard-boiled quail eggs. we're entertaining today and, as usual, Ros has been busy in the kitchen preparing. There are, however, certain jobs that get referred to me for reasons I don't always understand. Peeling the quail eggs was one of them. Now, I'll be honest, I'm not a huge fan of hard-boiled eggs. The scent of one is enough to put me off, but since Ros asked nicely...

What hadn't been considered, however, was that I don't recall ever peeling an egg. And so, I found myself learning the process from first principles. So, for those of you confronted by such a task in the future without any previous experience, here is what I've learned;

• having fingernails is a help - you can delicately lever off bits of shell
• tap the rounded end in order to start the egg - it's easier than if you start at the pointed end
• quail eggshells are a rather pretty pale blue
• patience is a virtue - you can rush it, but the end product won't look any where near as good as it might

Peeling twelve quail eggs took quite a long time, but I didn't have anything pressing to do otherwise, and, by applying what I learned, it did get quicker as I went along.

So, what about Afro-Peruviana? Well, having stumbled across a band called Inti Illimani Historico, I was looking for them on YouTube when I discovered that they had made a live album with a singer called Eva Ayllón, of whom I knew nothing. She's really rather good, and I am currently hooked on the album, which was recorded at the Café Torres in Santiago.

As a practising bureaucrat, I had a working assumption that I had no sense of rhythm. Or perhaps, as a middle-class mixed race kid from the Zone 4 suburbs, I just hadn't found mine. I'm beginning to wonder if I haven't found it...

What's so bad about Taylor Swift and Pokemon Go anyway?

It has to be admitted that, whilst I am aware that modern culture exists, I'm not exactly a devoted follower of current cultural events. I prefer villanelle and string quartets over more modern alternatives, and as I watch very little television and listen to even less radio, much talk of bands or genres passes over my head, undisturbed.

However, I do read my newspaper, and Twitter is an endless source of enlightenment, and so the existence of Taylor Swift had come to my attention. If you had asked me to name any of her songs, you would have had me at a loss, I admit, but I had at least heard of her.

I was waiting for my hair to be cut a week or so ago, in a local barber shop, and the television station being broadcast on a large screen was playing Taylor Swift videos in chronological order. As there was a lengthy wait, I was thus exposed to a cross-section of her work. And, whilst I still don't see me buying any of her music, I could see the attraction. She sings of girl meets boy, of teenage heartache and all of the things that I dimly remember of the early eighties - awkwardness, confusion, impossible to express desire to name but three.

And, unless I'm very much mistaken, those emotions never go out of fashion, so the market for her music is an obvious one. She can sing, she apparently writes and performs her own work, and the tunes are vaguely catchy and hummable, all of which seems to be a good thing.

Pokemon Go, on the other hand, is proving to be a useful adjunct to my fitness regime, as one has to walk around in search of monsters and supplies and to hatch eggs. The fighting bit I'm not so sure about, but it seems to provide additional motivation for me to get out and about. The only downside is that I appear to be surrounded by young people unfamiliar with 'outside'. Ah well, it may at least have some effect on the general lack of Vitamin D in our youth...

So, there you go, a bureaucrat has been offered a window into the twenty-first century. The view looks inviting enough, so maybe I'll stay...

To Inverness... and beyond!

It was raining when I reached Inverness, a cold, heavy rain falling from a sullen sky. Not so much "Welcome to the Highlands!" as "The Highlands, you're welcome to them...", but I was heading further north, much further north.

I like trains, as regular readers will be aware. It's not about locomotives or rolling stock - that has little attraction unless it offers something I might personally enjoy - but about the journey. And the four hours and eighteen minutes that it takes to get to Wick, at the furthest extent of the Far North Line, takes you through some of the remotest country served by train.

And is it remote! The relatively gentle country of Ross-shire yields to increasingly rugged country, where sheep are fewer and the lambing is just starting, before you enter the Flow Country of Caithness and Sutherland, a truly bleak, if majestic, place of bog, covering 1,500 square miles.

Colin Rosenstiel tells me that, in years past, the train used to divide at Georgemas Junction, with one part reversing before veering off to Thurso, whilst the other half continued to Wick. Nowadays, with only two carriages, it serves Thurso first before reversing back through Georgemas Junction and on to Wick.

I had planned a brief explore of Wick and arrived to find that it was still raining. Not a promising start, but it wasn't destined to get any better. Caron Lindsay, who spent some of her younger years in the town, tells me that it has rather lost its way, a shadow of its former self, and that seems pretty accurate, although there are few places that benefit from rain and low cloud. I was somewhat relieved that I only had just over an hour...

It was raining in Thurso too but, having checked into my hotel, I needed a good walk, and so went to explore. Like Wick, it seemed that most people had deserted in search of somewhere more pleasant, but I doggedly walked around, looking to see what might reward further exploration in the morning.

After a decent night's sleep, I returned, guided by the hotel proprietor towards 'Caithness Horizons', a relatively new museum housed in the old Town Hall. It has an interesting exhibition on the nuclear facility at Dounreay, not too far down the road, but the highlight is a twenty minute video on Caithness highlighting the unusual countryside - well worth a visit if you unexpectedly find yourself that far north. Remember, it's seven hundred miles from London King's Cross to Thurso by train.

But I had miles to go before I slept, and I was bound for Inverness again on the lunchtime train...

@NeedhamFC versus @GraysAthleticFC - as relegation rears its ugly head, can the Marketmen turn things around?

Welcome to a cold Bloomfields, on a windy evening with a pitch that doesn't look to have improved much since I was here for the VCD Athletic game a few weeks back. Since that rather sorry home defeat, not much has gone right for the Marketmen, although Saturday's nil-nil draw at basement dwellers Lewes at least halted the run of grim outcomes.

At least the visitors, Grays Athletic (unbeaten in 2016, apparently) may have brought along some support - we'll see if the attendance is better than the 135 who turned out to brave the risk of hypothermia for the VCD Athletic game...

A lively start saw both sides test the opposition goalkeeper, but the crosswind was already causing play  to concentrate on the far side of the pitch. The Marketmen seemed to looking to play long balls over the top, whilst Grays were testing the pitch by playing more along the ground. Probably a mistake, given the conditions, but we'll see...

35 minutes - a pretty even contest thus far, with both teams having had their chances. Still nil-nil though...

Half-time - both sides have hit the woodwork, but Grays appear to have a slight edge as we reach the break. Can Needham Market rally in the second half and get something from the game? A win would see them reach the giddy heights of eighteenth...

60 minutes - Needham's best spell of the game led to a shot on goal spilt by the Grays keeper low down and turned in from a tight angle. But whilst the home supporters celebrated, the assistant's flag was flying. Still scoreless, but the hosts were looking the stronger...

Time is running out, and the Marketmen are hanging on... The final whistle blows, and it's another point, and a clean sheet - Needham Market 0, Grays Athletic 0...

@NeedhamFC blow as cold as the January weather...

Gloves? Check. Hat? Check. The scarf my mother knitted for me whilst I was at university? Check. I was properly kitted out for a night of passion and high drama at Needham Market's very own 'Field of Dreams', Bloomfields. It was, need I say, pretty cold.

Having walked from the station, it seemed that I might not have picked the most attractive game of the season, and as the visitors from VCD Athletic don't have many fans of their own, it was soon apparent that the good people of Needham Market had opted for a night in front of a warm television.

The Marketmen have recovered after a torrid first quarter of the season, and stood just above the drop zone at the beginning of the evening, albeit eight points clear of 21st placed Farnborough, and with VCD Athletic deep in trouble in 23rd, this looked like an opportunity to open up real daylight between themselves and the bottom four.

And, early on, it looked promising, with Needham dominating possession. The catch was that they weren't creating chances against a team whose defence looked as brittle as their away record suggested. And, as the first half wore on, the visitors began to come into the game more. At half-time, it all looked fairly even.

Both sides had clearly been given a good talking to at half-time, and the second half started rather more brightly. You just had the feeling that, with both sides low on confidence, the first goal would be decisive. Sadly, it was the visitors who scored it, although if the linesman had had the option of a video replay, he might not have been too pleased with his decision-making.

From there on in, Needham pressed rather ineffectually and were caught on the break with a somewhat fortuitous second - I can't believe that the away striker, Lheureux Menga, really meant to toe-poke a lob over the keeper, but there you go - before wrapping things up with a third which belied the rather scrappy football which had proceeded it.

So, 0-3 it ended and, whilst the result was disappointing, what is worse is that it has given hope to all the teams in the relegation battle.

A chance missed by the Marketmen, I fear...

In search of a liberal hero of a forgotten war, commemorated in song...

Many years ago, I went on one of my more quixotic journeys inspired by a song. And yes, it was a quite mad reason to go anywhere, but I could, and that was the end of it. My journey started with a United Airlines flight to Washington D.C. and my destination was Albuquerque, New Mexico. Some of you may remember the song.

Much has changed since then. I'm older, greyer, slower, to name but three. I'm also married to the lovely Ros. However, not everything is different. I still have a sense that travel can be romantic, that new experiences make for a better person. And, I still have a yearning for song.

So, whilst Ros is occupied elsewhere, I'm back on a United Airlines flight to Washington DC, with an onward connection. Actually, to be precise, two onward connections. This time, it's a bit more comfortable and there are warm chocolate cookies (which may explain the slower bit).

My first challenge is to make it through immigration at Dulles Airport, collect my luggage, recheck it and make the next flight. Wish me luck!

Señor Valladares, this song is for you...

I have, accidentally, found something that I'm not really supposed to have, i.e. a Latin spirit. Yes, I have a Hispanic surname (another accident of history), but I'm an Indian Catholic, and we have no rhythm (we are musical, but dancing isn't really high on the skill set).

There I was, checking a YouTube video of an early music group that I've become rather find of, when I discover that they made an album of Latin American music. Well, one thing led to another, and there I am, listening to Venezuelan folk songs. And you know something, they're really catchy.

So, I explore a bit more, and I'm taken to a song that celebrates a murdered general in a civil war that nobody remembers, performed by a Chilean band that was effectively exiled by Pinochet, and, all of a sudden, I am in a world where even someone with no rhythm wants some. What is happening and what have you done with the bureaucrat?

The worrying thing is, I've got a trip to slot in, and I was thinking about Moldova. Is a week in Venezuela an insane idea, or should I just go for it?

I've really blown the title this time - 28 October 2015

Is this Government really working on the incompetence bit?

There is a point when you really have to wonder. It's easy to describe Tories as evil. Lazy, perhaps, but easy nonetheless. But, the thing about the bad guys is that they're generally well-organised (evil lairs built into volcanoes don't come easy, you know). And, at the moment, with a European negotiation without much in the way of negotiating points, and welfare reform carried out via the most vulnerable of legislative methods, you begin to fear just how much damage they could do if they knew what they were doing.

In truth, they do know what they're doing. And we're not going to like it...

Not seventy-six trombones, but one will do...

More music from Latin America today and, just to prove that even a trombone can be hip, here's Hector "Parquimetro" Briceño, playing Doña Flor...

On this day in... 2011

I was wildlife spotting in... Creeting St Peter. It is easy to forget just how much wildlife there is, even in the arable landscape that is mid-Suffolk. Indeed, as it turns out, three types of deer can be spotted in the parish. And don't start me on the birds...

No title, but a quick sashay - 27 October 2015... time to dance whilst the Lords burns and, now I come to mention it...

So, Lord Trefgarne, whose side ARE you on?

The Government loses a(nother) vote in the Lords, and all of a sudden, Lords Reform is on the cards. Now, given that they've tried to exclude anything up to two million voters from the electoral register, rigging the constituency boundary review in the process, intend to shut off the Official Opposition's primary source of income, they're hardly holding themselves up as defenders of the democratic process. And now, they've come for the Lords.

Get up and dance, you know that you want to...

It is quite amazing what the internet can expose you to, especially if, like me, you are of an inquisitive nature. So, try this. I defy you not to want to move...

On this day in... 2007

Did I have a small hand in the changing of the guard amongst Central Suffolk Tories? Well, I answered a question that was apparently being asked, and then, all of a sudden, Sir Michael Lord was gone. Sadly, for Tim Passmore, the usual rule whereby the local Tories are considered too useless to fill vacancies created by retirement applied, and that nice Dr Poulter won the selection. No wonder some of the locals don't like him...