A perilous journey and a man in a leotard

The continuing adventures of a girl trying to achieve forty things before she hits the grand old age of forty, although not necessarily in the right order...

Number 39: Walk up Calton Hill (completed)

Admittedly this is one of the easiest goals on my list. Having lived in Edinburgh for seven years I really should have got around to doing this before now. Now, thanks to my intrepid friends Jane Britton and Penny Watson, I have finally scaled this mighty mountain.

It was one of the first sunny days of 2013, which boded well. Kitted out and equipped appropriately we set off to attempt our expedition. The sun was shining and we were actually able to venture out sans hat, scarf and gloves without fear of frostbite like Sir Ranulph.

We three hearty explorers warmed up our limbs with a stroll across the Meadows and stopped to sustain ourselves with hearty helpings of tea and cake. Fuelled for our epic journey, we took up our map and compass and navigated the dangerous realms of ‘that bit at the top of Leith Walk’. At last we discovered the long-lost hidden entrance which heralded the start of the ascent.

The exhausting climb involved over six hours negotiating dangerous crevasses. We lost our sherpers and ran out of oxygen and food. Jane narrowly escaped being eaten by cannibals. Penny fell in a snow drift.

Actually it was a pleasant stroll up a winding path with expansive views over Edinburgh towards the Firth of Forth, but that sounds a bit too easy!

At the top we were united with various other explorers who had braved the ascent to picnic, stroll, walk their dogs and read, surrounded by a panoramic view of Edinburgh. It really was a very sunny and pleasant day.

Probably the hardest challenge was trying to scramble up onto the Acropolis for the obligatory ‘I’ve made it’ photo. The small child next to me made it look embarrassingly easy. Still I managed it and struck an explorer pose between the columns. Apparently I look a bit like something from Cloud Atlas.

It being Scotland we were accompanied a soundtrack of bagpipes. They really do get everywhere. After a short time enjoying the summit we braved the descent and made our way home, happy with our achievement.

A thoroughly enjoyable adventure just seven years in the making.

23: See David Bowie live (the next best thing?)

So no sooner do I add ‘see Bowie live’ to my list than he releases his first new album in ten years. Coincidence?

Sadly he is showing no intention of touring, so I decided to do the next best thing. I went to the Bowie exhibition at the V&A and bought the new album. I also bought the exhibition book, a t-shirt, several postcards and a celebratory guitar plectrum before having to leave the shop. Still it’s good to support the man in his retirement.

The exhibition at the V&A was incredible. Bowie seems to have taken inspiration from every available source including music, films, art, fashion and literature. It was interesting to read about his history and the context of his work, especially for someone like me having not grown up in the sixties. I loved hearing him talk about his inspiration and how he wrote his lyrics as well as seeing his song notes and sketches for album covers.

Of course the costumes were fabulous. Some of my favourites included one made out of such heavy plastic that he had to be carried on stage to perform in it, a vinyl trouser suit with legs about a metre wide and a bunny leotard. He also managed to pull off suits paired with kitten heels as well as a gold webbed body suit with just some well placed gold hands for modesty. And I got to see the props from Labyrinth.

What I learned to appreciate was how brave he was at a time when being so was, well, brave.

And somehow he managed to make a man in a bunny leotard look sexy.

I’ve spent the last week listening to ‘The Next Day’ in my car on the way to work. I gather it has had some mixed reviews. It’s certainly more reflective than a lot of his previous work. Ok, it’s not Ziggy Stardust or Low, but it wasn’t meant to be. Like the Berlin albums it represents yet another change in his life and artistic direction. I quite like it. It’s a grower. I also think it fits better together stylistically than Reality, one of his more recent albums. The background instrumentation is rich and interesting. Plus there are some opportunities to sing along, which is always a winner with me.

It’s not quite seeing him live, but it’s the next best thing and at the moment it may be the nearest I’ll get.

And I have my T-shirt, book, postcards and plectrum* to fill the gap!

 *I should perhaps point out I don’t actually even play the guitar. That’s a good sale.

Skiing the Pyrenees

The continuing adventures of a girl trying to achieve forty things before she hits the grand old age of forty...

January 20^th 2013

Skiing the Pyrenees

This blog starts with a huge thank you to Vicki Gemmell for nominating me for the ‘very inspiring blog’ award. With the fame comes the slight guilt that I haven’t written anything in it for yonks. Woops!

Number 27: Ski in at least three different countries (progressing)

This is one of the ‘things to do’ that might need some moderation if I am to achieve it before forty. Originally it was to ski in three new countries. I’ve already enjoyed skiing in Scotland, France, Austria and Italy with a brief cross-over into Switzerland. I really do fancy the thought of some big country skiing; the wide slopes of Canada or America perhaps. Japan is also supposed to be amazing. However, I recognise that big countries come at a big price. So the modification is that I’ll attempt three different regions in the next five years. Not just three new resorts; that’s cheating.

This year, thanks to my brother’s lovely fiancée, I had the opportunity to spend Christmas in the French Pyrenees. Yamina’s family are based at Font Romeu. It’s a pretty place up the mountains where Paula Radcliffe apparently did some of her high altitude training. Unlike Scotland it achieves pretty much year ‘round sunshine and very little rain. It’s also right on the border with Spain and Andorra which makes for an interesting mix of cultures and personalities at times. Although skiing is one of the few sports I’m actually any good at (it doesn’t involve throwing, catching, good eye coordination or team work) I’m also quite a fair weather skier. I like it when it’s warm and sunny. So I was especially looking forward to relaxing under the blue skies, eating lots of cheese, drinking coffee and enjoying some new slopes to play on. I just had to get there first.

It was a journey that would have impressed Phileas Fogg. Starting at 3.50 AM (ouch) with a taxi ride to the airport it later progressed through an airport coach transfer, bus, train and car ride. The first bit went smoothly with the taxi arriving promptly and getting through to Edinburgh airport just before 5AM. Stage One- tick.

My rucksack had also involved a certain amount of planning to pack. People may mock my spreadsheet planning system but fitting clothes, ski gear and Christmas presents into an easily transportable package involves good project management. I didn’t fancy carting it around too much so, noticing I had a long time between flight into Paris and flight out of Paris to Toulouse I asked the man to check my bag straight through. He helpfully stuck a yellow sticker on my ticket. Done.

Once through security I was alarmed to see that my flight was actually going into Paris Charles de Gaulle and out of Paris Orly. I had assumed I was staying in one airport for the four hour wait. Orly meant a trip across Paris. Time to practice my French on the plane. The Air France lady was very helpful and said yes there was a handy coach to transfer me from CDG to Orly and no it wasn’t possible for my bag to be booked straight through, despite the yellow sticker on my ticket. The bag would stay at CDG where I would pick it up from the carousel. Simples. So I waited by the carousel. I then waited by the oversized baggage carousel (Baggage Ors Format in French if you’re interested). Then back to the normal one. Then to the helpful Frenchman at Baggage information. He was very handsome. I tried my friend again. ‘Ou est mon sac a dos?’ He explained that no it wasn’t ‘Hors Format’ and should appear on the normal carousel. He then caught sight of the yellow sticker on my ticket. ‘Ah. Il y a une error’. Oh bother.

Credit where credit’s due the handsome Frenchman was very helpful and managed to somehow locate my rucksack in the airport and promised it would arrive on the carousel in twenty minutes or so. I checked my watch. An hour to get across Paris on the coach. An hour to check into the flight. I still had a bit of time so relaxed and waited by the carousel. And waited.

I decided the old trick of going to the loo; things always arrive when you’re in the bathroom. My route was promptly blocked by a soldier. ‘La Toilet est interdit.’ What? The toilet is forbidden? It turned out it was not only forbidden, it was being evacuated. Then came the line of soldiers. We were all being evacuated. What about ‘mon sac a dos?’ Sorry madam. Behind the line.

We all waited behind the line. I’m not sure what benefit the line would have been in an explosion. Perhaps it had a force field above it. Everyone chatted nicely, a lady requested a chair, the man next to me asked politely whether I’d been to Paris before. Everyone was very calm. I was less calm.

I was just wondering whether to leave the bag and go when the handsome baggage man appeared. ‘Madam! I have your rucksack.’ I considering leaving the bag and taking him with me on holiday instead.

Bomb scare over Stage Three (coach transfer) and Stage Four (second flight) went without incident. I met mum and dad at Toulouse and Stage Five (the bus) also went without a hitch. The train was busy and we ended up sitting apart. Then some people got off and we moved to sit together. Then more people got off. Then the rest of the train got off. They had moved the platform. Everybody off!

Finally seated (on the floor of the journey) we enjoyed the last three hour journey through the mountains which were sadly too dark to see out of the window. One last car journey and we were at Font Romeu. Sixteen hours. I could fly to Africa in that time. Arriving at the apartment my brother immediately handed me a beer and packet of crisps. He knows me well.

Font Romeu was well worth the journey in the end. If you ever do go the train journey is actually lovely as we discovered doing it on the way back in daylight. The village is peaceful and friendly. Perhaps it is the complicated journey that puts people off but as a result we were pretty much the only Brits there. This meant everyone was very friendly and the resort much less touristy and more genuine than some others I have enjoyed. I ate lots of yummy cheese, drank some lovely wine and coffee and enjoyed the first sight of blue sky I’ve had in months. Blue sky, hot sunshine, snow. Magical. Sitting on the balcony gazing out over the mountain sunset was quite something else.

For good skiers there are just enough hefty slopes for a challenge and plenty of smooth runs to enjoy just being on the mountains. At one point Dad and I had a slope all to ourselves. It was like being royalty. My only complaint was that I couldn’t have stayed for longer. Perhaps an apartment? Tempting.

Anyway; sixteen hours and one bomb scare later but well worth the trip. One resort down, three to go...

Into the wilds of Scotland: dolphins and sea-cliffs

September 23^rd 2012

The continuing adventures of a girl trying to achieve forty things before she hits the grand old age of forty...

 Number 40: See dolphins in Scotland (achieved)

This has been my year of Scottish holidays. It started with a very enjoyable week in a cottage at Glen Shee enjoying good company, log fires, skiing, scrabble and excellent food surrounded by snow covered hills. More recently I spent four days with a friend camping at Glenbrittle experiencing the many moods and climates of beautiful Skye- including a very brave (i.e. freezing) sea dip. Finally the intrepid Jane B and I spent a happy and slightly more luxurious week staying in B&Bs, exploring the East coast and centre of Scotland on our road trip adventure.

   Since having moved to Scotland one of the things I’ve learned to love are the many varied landscapes. From looming high mountains to fishing villages; sandy beaches to peaceful lochs. There are some truly beautiful scenes to enjoy. The added deterrents of midges and weather also ensure they aren’t overrun with tourists! It’s hard not to enjoy being outdoors with such delicious visual titbits to savour. Just be prepared with a rain hat and skin-so-soft/DEET to hand.

   The second thing I love is the incredible variety of wildlife and the relative ease with which you can encounter it. Readers of my column and blog will have already heard stories of bats, puffins and seals. Even driving back from Skye I had a ‘chance encounter’ (read ‘near miss’) with an enormous stag. Awesome. The one animal which has so far eluded me is the dolphin. I’ve been on boats and islands, seen seals and seabirds, but not yet dolphins. Well, that’s not true; I’ve seen them at SeaWorld in Florida doing loop-the-loops and suchlike. But there’s something about seeing them in their natural habitat which inspires me. So when Jane B and I set off in our intrepid steed, Harris the Yaris, to tour Scotland seeing the Moray Firth dolphins was top of my list.

   It nearly didn’t happen. Along our journey we enjoyed culinary delights such as macaroni/mince and tattie pies; saw many castles of varying ruin; walked along lovely beaches; sampled fantastic whisky and were even blessed with hot sunshine and ice cream. In fact the weather was so good that I had taken it for granted the boat trips would be sailing. I hadn’t factored in the wind and change of season. By season I mean tourist rather than weather. Cullen, for example, was closed. The whole of Cullen. Cafes would announce themselves with tempting signs, luring you to a door which announced ‘shut’. Of the four pubs in Cullen two had shut down permanently, one had no food and the other was closed on a Tuesday night. We, of course, arrived on a Tuesday night. We ended up enjoying a chip supper picnic on our beds at the B&B. (Actually this was quite fun.)

   I was very disappointed therefore to hear that the boats wouldn’t be going out until the weekend, by which time we were to have left for Loch Ness. Fortunately our B&B landlord recommended a trip to Fort George where we ‘could not fail’ to see dolphins from the headland. We left for the Fort with mixed feelings. By the time we arrived the sunshine had also shut up shop for the season to be replaced by lashing rain and driving gales. Jane tried to manage my expectations. Undaunted I declared I felt ‘confident’ we would see dolphins. My confident declarations were slightly muffled by my rain hood and strong winds.

   Fort George itself is very interesting. From above it looks a bit like a spaceship and it has an interesting history, having been built to quell a Scottish rebellion that never happened and having served as a working barracks to this day. We followed the stops on the audio tour, pausing for obligatory coffee and cake, then made our way to the optimistically named ‘Dolphin Viewing Point’. We then spent the next half an hour huddled between various battlements peering out over the Moray Firth. Squinting across the choppy water with icy cheeks and rain spitting in your eyes it’s easy to mistake a wave for an emerging fin. It’s like that time we were on Safari in Africa looking for tree climbing lions. ‘There’s one!’ (Tree stump.) ‘That’s definitely one!’ (Rock.)

   I had sort of convinced myself that those grey triangles I could see mid distance could have been dolphins and turned to leave, a little down at heart. Jane B suggested one more try, which was good of her considering she must have been frozen, soaking and bored. With perfect timing we turned to see an elegant fin and smooth back curve out of the water not metres away from us. ‘That’s one! That’s definitely one!’ Sure enough the dolphin repeated his performance, just to make sure we could both see.

  A brief sighting certainly, but a definite and bona fide view of a dolphin in its natural environment. I was stupidly excited and left numb with cold but satisfied.

   I should add my huge thanks to Jane for standing in the rain for so long in order for me to be able to tick this one off my list. Also she is a handy eye witness. Sadly she wasn’t on hand to witness my later sighting of the Loch Ness Monster, but that’s another story...

Number 15: Learn to rock climb properly (still practising... )

   So, as recorded earlier in my blog, I’m not necessarily what you’d call an expert but I’m hugely enjoying the experience of learning to climb. Most recently my colleague Elsie was patient (and brave) enough to take me on my first outdoor climb. It was awesome! Different to the challenge of indoor climbing, using only certain colours as hand and foot holds, the challenge of outdoor climbing is more a case of: ‘Can I get my fingers around that and actually hold my own weight?’ or ‘Can I reach that and not end up with my face in that gorse bush?’  The setting was amazing with the low evening sun shining silver on the Firth of Forth.

   My initial alarm at seeing the sheer sea cliff and Elsie’s friends spiderman-ing up it was allayed when she took me to a lower and easier section around the corner. In just a couple of hours I learned to lead belay, second and remove those clip thingies (gear?) from the rock. For some reason I had little awareness of the height, so involved was I in the challenge of getting my limbs to achieve a few angles previously unfamiliar to them. Ironically I got more vertigo on the drive home over the Forth Bridge.

   Elsie is a proper pro’ and I suspect could have scaled the cliff without the ropes, but she also helped me feel relaxed and confident. After all I’ve only really climbed a couple of times indoors with ropes and enjoyed a few bouldering sessions. This was an altogether different barrel of fish. One thing I noticed was the impressive range of hooks, clips, springs, tools and other paraphernalia that hang from the proper climbers’ harnesses. As we clank and rattle back down the path to the beach Elsie comments that, whilst you get to see some beautiful sunsets, you never do see much wildlife.  

   A brilliant experience and one I hope to enjoy again before too long.

Surviving most glamorous festival ever and achieving published status (sort of)

The continuing adventures of a girl trying to achieve forty things before she hits the grand old age of forty...

9^th June: surviving most glamorous festival ever and achieving published status (sort of)

Number 9: Get something published (progressing/achieved?)

I have to start this entry with a huge thanks to my good friend Julia for this one. Not only did she very flatteringly compare me to Oscar Wilde in a recent web interview (no pressure), she also recommended me as a new ‘witty columnist’ for TFN magazine. I was pretty nervous having never really written articles before. I have had a number of reviews on websites and in Ottakar’s magazine, but never a serious article. Fortunately the editor managed to reassure me that what was actually needed was  far from serious and more akin to 500 words of light hearted nonsense about working in the voluntary sector. Nonsense is something I can do.

So 8^th June heralded my first ‘published’ article which is both in TFN magazine and online. Hurray! One of my colleagues in fact read it before I did, as they have a Google alert telling them whenever the name of my work is mentioned online. So, someone complimenting you on your writing without you directing them to it; that’s sort of being published isn’t it?

The Beatles may have suggested ‘all you need is love’, but in my recent experience it turns out what you actually need is friends. Julia isn’t the only one deserving of thanks here; all my friends and family have been so supportive for so many years. They have encouraged me to keep going when all seems lost. They have waded their way through my writing; whether the more successful pieces or the truly awful ones (of which there are many). They have recommended techniques and competitions and outlets for my work. They have given constructive feedback, some of which I have listening to and taken onboard without grumbling too much. Ok so we’re not quite at the point where I’m sitting in a big floppy hat being paid to write splendid, erudite fiction which receives terrific reviews and still sells a packet, but we’re nearer than I’ve ever been!

In my last entry related to getting published I mentioned the recent SAW Conference. Both the conference and recent speaker talks at the Edinburgh Writers’ Club have really persuaded me that in order to get published any writer these days, especially a little known one, needs an online presence. They also need to consider the e-book route. Thanks to my brother at this point for not saying ‘I told you so’ too much. He’s been talking about e-books for a long time. Being a major fan of the independent bookshop vs online shopping and loving nothing more than the feeling of selecting a book from the long shelf and opening it to smell the end papers I have resisted it for a long time. Now I have to admit the e-book route is calling. At least in the first instance. I have to allow the book a chance to sell itself. If it doesn’t and it isn’t any good, then maybe that just shows writing is always going to be a hobby. After all, something that you love doesn’t always translate into something which you’re good at, or which you deserve to be paid to do for a living. However should it prove relatively successful then I can still go down the traditional paper publishing, long shelf, independent bookshop and end paper smelling route with more confidence and a bit more of a reputation behind me.

But anyway I’m waxing lyrical. Enough of this. The main point of this entry is to celebrate success so far, to thank everyone for helping me to get to this point and to mention a point of revelation. My aforementioned floppy hat wearing vision does mention the word erudite. The fact is, much as I enjoy reading a good Man Booker winner or similar, I actually seem to be good at writing a.) adventures b.) scary bits in Crime/Science Fiction c.) entertaining / humorous nonsense.

At least I can now sit back in the comfort of knowing that my route lies, therefore, in genre fiction. My years of frustration at not being able to write like Graham Greene are behind me. Not actually being Graham Greene, I’m not going to be able to write the next ‘Quiet American’. That said; there is that slightly random Graham Greene novel about a spy and the cake weighing competition...so maybe there’s hope yet?

Number 10: Go to a festival (achieved)

Primavera Sound was an amazing experience. The festival is based down by the waterside in Barcelona. Sitting, listening to and watching live bands with a backdrop of sailing boats and sunsets over the sea was just incredible.

During this post I have to make a couple of admissions. The first is that it was all just so much more civilised than I imagined. There weren’t huge groups of overly drunk people swearing and throwing things and being sick everywhere. In fact there were groups of well behaved Europeans dancing, standing and singing along to the music in a very civilised fashion. Sadly the only group of fancy-dress clad drunkards we saw were British. How embarrassing.

My second admission is that I really didn’t expect a festival to be quite that glamorous. I managed the jigsaw competition of fitting four days of packing into tiny hand luggage as I was too cheap to pay the hold luggage fee. Therefore I really had only packed the usual vest tops, jeans, floppy hat and sundress affairs which I'd usually cram in for a week's holiday. Seeing the surrounding slim, tanned, fashionably dressed crowds made my friends and I vow to prepare for the festival next year by dropping two stone in weight, getting a spray tan and getting out a bank loan to go clothes shopping.

We saw some great bands; some of which I had heard of like the XX and M83. Others were more random and others truly ear bleedingly awful but that’s all part of the experience. Much as I like camping, it was also good to be able to come away from the setting and have a good night’s sleep in our well positioned hostel near la Ramblas, so we could return refreshed and happy the next evening. Also it gave me the opportunity for a bit of sight seeing, eating, drinking and people watching in beautiful Barcelona. And I got to practice my CD learnt Spanish (see previous entry). I didn’t order any shoes but I was able to ask for some stamps and understand when the woman told me to buy them at the Tobacconist. Being a vegetarian caused some issues, but resulted in a fantastic salad which had an A-Z of ‘things the chef hurriedly found at the back of his cupboard that didn’t have meat or fish in them’. These included olives, dried apricots, cheese, almonds, carrots and prunes. Fantastic! My true high point eating in Spain however was managing to consume nine cheeses in one day.

Oh and if anyone can tell me why exactly bottle lids are supposed to be so dangerous at festivals I’d be grateful. There were signs everywhere. Bottles; fine. Bottle lids; apparently fatal. I didn’t see any signs of blinding, maiming or other lid-related injury, but am now trawling the internet with interest.

Enough digression and on to my final revelation; I may not yet have hit forty but I’m slightly worried I might still be getting a bit old. Standing up for three whole days made my back ache and my feet turn into trampled pasties more than running my recent half marathon. But then in my defence the Cure did play for three hours. But then they must be in their fifties so if they can cope with it then I’ve got no excuse.

Running the half and learning to buy shoes in Spain

The continuing adventures of a girl trying to achieve forty things before she hits the grand old age of forty...

Number 20: Run the Marathon du Medoc (training)

   Running a Marathon is the classic ‘before you’re forty’ achievement. As the very thought strikes fear into my heart (and knees) I thought this option might be the best. My brother found it online; it’s a Marathon but you do it in fancy dress and there are lots of stops for wine and nibbles. It sounds very civilised and at least there shouldn’t be too many hard core athletes competing. At the worst I can just walk around in the sun.

   In preparation Penny and I signed up for the Rock and Roll Half Marathon; a half marathon in Edinburgh with a Rock band playing every mile to spur you on.

   I’ve actually been quite pleased with my training for once. I’m not normally very good at pushing myself and running around the city means I have a good excuse to stop at the traffic lights a lot. Still, I’ve managed to go at least twice or three times and week and to be consistent. It seems to have paid off. I went running in the wind, the dark and the rain and even once in the snow. For those of you worrying I’m going to become some boring athlete though, I’ve still eaten far too much chocolate and celebrated good training runs with yummy puddings and chips (not together).

   The big day finally came 15^th April. I was so nervous. The furthest race I’d run previously was 10k and the longest training run was 10 miles, which I ran once. I fully expected to stop a lot along the way. Or to run it very slowly. Or to run it and then faint, or throw up, or both. In fact I was very proud of myself and frankly amazed!

   I was determined to do things properly this time, having previously run a 10k after a ‘hen do’. Even one glass of champagne doesn’t sit well being jogged up and down the next day. So this time I drank lots of water, ate lots of pasta and had an early night. Of course I didn’t sleep much and had the usual dreams about turning up late and running the race in my pyjamas.

   In the morning we woke to a perfect day; cold but dry and sunny. You could tell those who had turned up from England and those who were used to training in Scotland. The latter were fleeced up to the nines whilst the former were shivering in vests and slimline tops. It was freezing at first but in the end perfect weather for a run; not too warm with a blue sky and slight breeze down the hills. Just right. The course was the best too. I was wonderful to run through such a beautiful city. We went along the sea front and through the park. Lots of people lined the streets, banging pans, waving and cheering. I even managed to wave back and found myself grinning like a loon all the way. Every mile we had the rock and roll bands, so you could hear your progress as well as see it. I was basically fuelled on Gu energy gels and adrenalin. In fact, I think it took three days for the sugar to wear off. The last mile up the Mound was a slump, but once I had the finish line in my sights I managed a last burst of energy. A very respectable 2 hours 14 minutes. Quite proud of myself.

   Plus at the end we got a proper space man silver blanket and a whacking great medal. Hurray! Just need to keep it up now.

PS- I mainly did it for the self motivation, but if you want if you are suitably impressed with my efforts there are two splendid charities I can recommend.

My good friend Lisa’s charity, A Rocha:

http://www.justgiving.com/crazyrunathon

And my good friend Megan’s charity, Ripple Africa:

http://www.justgiving.com/charlottesafricanchallenge

Number 13: Learn a new language (progressing slowly)

   This is quite a challenging one and one which I suspect will take me a long time to ‘tick off’ properly. I have a decent amount of French, having spent many happy holidays there as a young girl, and a spattering of German. I can also ask for a cup of tea in Thai and Swedish. Very useful.

   In the end I thought that Spanish would be a useful acquisition. South America is somewhere I would be interested to visit and more immediately I’m off to Barcelona in May. Brilliantly, my friend bought me learn Spanish CDs, so I can play them in my car. I should explain that it takes me an hour to drive to work everyday, so it’s a brilliant opportunity to make the most of those wasted hours. Sometimes I also listen to Miss Marple, but that’s another story...

   It’s an interesting technique. The CD combines a flirty sounding Spanish woman and a geeky sounding English man chatting away in their respective languages over a variety of music. Some of them quite funky and some more folky. Somehow it’s supposed to stick in your head, the combination of repetition and music. It’s quite a challenge sometimes to navigate the motorway whilst asking the quickest way to the post office, but I’m finding if I repeat each section three times it just about sticks in my head.

   So far I can order wine, beer, water, bread, cheese, salad and olives, so at least I won’t starve. More recently I’ve progressed on to being able to buy shoes and find my way to the Picasso Museum. Essentials for any tourist!