Well I'm nearing the end of my wonderful trip to Pontevedra. It's been the best of times...at times!

Yesterday we travelled on the autopista which sounds like an efficient machine to get drunk, to Valenca, the first town over the border into Portugal.

After my host had thrown all of the change over the floor at the toll barrier we arrived in Valenca and then proceeded to drive on the autopista again when the driver missed the turn.

We ate goat at a delightful roadside restaurant which was full of the cast of extras from Cocoon, not to mention a few Nuns too. We were in great company. It was considerably quieter here and the only loud babbling conversation was our own!

After a short siesta I walked around the ruins of Valenca. Tui in Spain and the aforementioned town in Portugal used the battle the hell out of each other. Valenca faired the better and now the remains of the fort house a multitude of cafes all serving the same food and gift shops all selling the same cotton goods and trinkets. The bridge between Tui and Valenca was designed by Gustave Eiffel and is similar to the iron lattice work you will see on that little tower he designed in Paris.

On the way back we stopped off at Santa Tecla which is an Iron Age fort on the top of a mountain. It offered 360 degree views and was absolutely beautiful. I was slightly concerned by the lack of safety barrier, not to mention an awful selection of tacky gifts at the top!

I finished off some Jamon last night. Whilst not bellota, it was €10 for 100g which is still rather expensive. It was delicious though. Washed down with Vinho Verde, the slightly fizzy 'green wine' from Portugal which is wonderfully light. Behind the hills on the far side of Pontevedra there was a dazzling lightning show last night well into the night. It was a memorable end to a memorable day.

It's been the best of times...at times!

I read on the BBC website this morning that certain countries provide financial incentives to its gold medal winners. Some of these include Singapore who gives a prize of $745,264 to all gold medal holders. Other countries include:

Moldova $132,000

France $55,000

But there are other countries who provide non-monetary incentives. These include Iran who award gold shoes, Belarus who, with a sausage company, provide a life time supply of sausage and the USA who allow you to cheat the full force of the law if you make up a drunken story and lie to the police.

GB don't officially get any monetary incentive however they will stand a good chance of being included in the Honours list and access to high profile sponsorship campaigns. They should also receive a good welcome when they return but no doubt allegations of doping and foul play will continue to rear their head in the media.

Yesterday I spent a delightful few hours in Pontevedra Museum. There are two parts to it; an art gallery over four floors and a collection of pottery, carvings, ancient artefacts and modern art. I surprised my host when I said I had seen a Miro, a Picasso and a Dali in the museum section of the building as he said he had missed these. I wonder what creative gems we miss when they're right under our noses. Take time to explore your local museum or art gallery. Leeds Art Gallery is one such example.

Finally on the subject of art, I have become increasingly interested in the Gallician painter, caricaturist, writer and politician Alfonso Castelao. He was a prominent voice in the 1920s and 30s initially then set up various bodies and groups to support persecuted peoples, especially in Galicia. Anyway I'm not an expert so the above biography is sketchy at present. However the art he produced is beautiful, comical and in places extremely thought provoking. More on him to follow but if you check out his Arenga you will get a flavour of what he is all about.

When you are blessed to be in one of the most providential places in the world for fine foods you should take more time reading up on what is on offer in order to fully appreciate it.

The first time I came to Galicia I simply experienced the cuisine. This time I have attempted to refine my experience. If my host allows a third trip at his pleasure then no doubt this will be another level of gastronomic delight.

My most recent foray into fine cuisine has been Jamon. We visited a deli yesterday morning to order some wine, including the excellent Terras Gauda Albariño of which I still have one bottle at home. Truly beautiful. But we were blessed in the fact that there was a guy slicing and preparing Jamon for sale. Not any old Jamon however and this became apparent when I was given a sample. It was the most intense and beautiful flavour ever. One cannot begin to describe it effectively in words. In fact one journalist went so far as to say it was the most perfect taste in the world. This, dear readers, was bellota Jamon aka acorn ham, named after the diet of the pigs that go into making it.

Jamon is given different bands and headings depending on the diet of the pigs, the hanging time, the quality of the pigs involved; all sorts of things. The stuff you can get in Aldi at Christmas time is far removed from the best on offer here. I saw Bellota Jamon advertised for nearly £2000 a leg in the UK. Still overpriced but considering the taste I can see why some pay it. If you ever get the chance then do it!

Pigs form a huge part of the gastronomic experience of Spain. Part of their popularity, legend has it, is down to the expelling of Muslims and Jews and to test whether you were a true Christian you were fed pork. Whether this is true or not, I have certainly had my fair share of pork already. In this respect, as in others, I can be called Christian.

Today I travelled up into the hills to be fed a 3 course meal with half a litre of wine plus coffee for €8.50. It was, apparently, typical Galician food. We had fried pescaditos or fish to start with a beautifully dressed green leaf salad. The main was pork stew, affectionately known as 'everything but the tail.' A delightful smokey stew flavoured by an intense ring of chorizo, there were borlotti beans and cabbage as well as potato and pigs ear, boiled ribs and loin steak. It resembled the pink intensity of gammon but without the saltiness. A real contrast from the Jamon but still well received. There were nearly 100 diners each coming to taste this genuine food. Yet again I was the only non-Spanish speaker there but this only added to the experience. I do enjoy not having to hear tedious discussion or indeed let other hear mine!!!

Last night we hosted a dinner party. I was intending on cooking for four people I knew however after some exchanges of text messages, it was more like 8, some of whom I didn't know. Then at the last moment it went down to 6 in total. Not only that but I would expect to welcome people from about 7 to eat at 7.30 however this is practically unheard of over here. The neighbours were coming and couldn't make it until 9. Even then they were late. One of the neighbours ate her dinner but kept leaving to speak on the phone then fell asleep afterwards. I was told not to take it personally.

One thing I wanted to cook, as Colin doesn't get it here, is smoked mackerel pâté. It's a very simple dish when all you have to do is go to Aldi and get smoked mackerel fillets. It's slightly more tenuous when you have to buy fresh mackerel, fillet it yourself then cure and smoke it. Very rewarding though, if only to tick another kick off the culinary list. Not to mention seeing Chief Scout Colin make a fire!

Mackerel is a very cheap fish and is underused here. It's €3 a kilo. When I asked if the Spanish ladies liked the pâté all I heard was 'fantastico' which is OK to me!

I also did roasted peppers in homemade pesto and chicken and chorizo stew. All washed down with Rioja and Albariño of course!

Finally: Michael Moore has suggested in the Guardian this week that Trump's campaign is an elaborate ploy to get a better deal on TV and has therefore started to derail his own campaign with further outlandish statements and beliefs. Yet there are still people who believe everything he says and have conviction in him as their future leader. No applause needed tonight.

When the toreadors or bull fighting comes to town there seems to be a number of collectives that assemble in uniform colours to celebrate and basically get absolutely slaughtered in the booze. Whilst some of these go to see the bullfighting, many, I suspect, don't tend to agree but join in the revelry in town regardless. These are known as Peña and certainly light up the town. They assemble in two of the squares in town; one for the youngsters and another for the mid 20s to 30s. Normally the Police would move this type of activity on but a few times a year they make this exception.

The teenagers, some who look about 13, drink out of those blue mineral water bottles a mix of rum and coke called calimocho and they seem to bloody love it...and hate it after a few hours. We went into town for tea around 7.30 and the street odour resembled that of a public toilet. Go figure! There was also a bit of chunder adorning the pavement slabs too: good work considering the time.

Finally: we got two huge Jamon sandwiches/ baguettes yesterday and a plate of Jamon and beers for €11! I suggested that it would cost twice that in Pound Sterling in the UK. I really do like this place!

The Grabbing of Beasts

We drove into the wooded hills yesterday late afternoon for an event called A Rapa Das Bestas or the grabbing of beasts. For those of you who have watched Gypsy Wedding you may think this is some sort of dating for desperate people. However it's an annual tradition with country folk which involves rounding up the wild horses and cutting their hair. Some communities also brand the horses to ensure that if they stray into other land, the owners know about them. Yesterday was just cutting manes and I was grateful for this. There is a huge wooded pen and a viewing area around the top. Friends of the farmers sit on top of the wooded pen and shout pleasantries (insults) that would put the cast of Shameless to inevitable shame.

There is a primitive bar and seating area which was "quite clean for rural standards" and as we were leaving, some chaps were boiling pulpo (octopus) and serving it in the local style. The children were riding around on the backs of horses and ponies with no helmet or safety gear and the horse-park had some beautiful horses tied up to trees whilst their owners were wrestling their wild cousins to the floor.

Back to the pen. It's hot and flies dance all over the horses. The lads start cheering then one jumps on the back of a horse, pulling its mane and slapping it on the backside. God knows what his dating technique is like! Then all the lads muscle in and attempt to get the 'beast' to the ground. One mare was so tough that they had to pull her tail and her back leg but once she was on the ground she was quite calm. An old fella came round with buckets of water keeping the horses cool. People from urban UK will no doubt think this is a cruel activity, and as I discussed with my host, there probably are more efficient ways to trim them. However this is a Galician tradition and we have traditions in all communities. These people are continuing to nurture their tradition and I, for one, applaud them.

Smokin!

No don't worry, I haven't taken up this habit. But it seems, dear readers, that nearly everyone else does smoke in Spain. My host believes this is so that the Spanish can keep slim. I tend to concur with this. I was chatting to my friend Charlotte this morning and we were talking about the smoking thing as she has spent a lot of time in Spain. I snack or drink wine normally when at a loose end, especially on holiday. Is smoking something to do with the added benefit of not making you want to eat?

We are in the fiesta week at present in Pontevedra. There is a bull fight in town and the fun fair, fireworks, gastronomic delights and, curiously, a wild horse roundup which we are going to tonight. I would supply you with photos but I haven't worked out how to do it on my phone.

Carrying on with the smoke theme, the wild fires are continuing to blight the horizon. There is an odour of burning trees and in the morning the sun is barely visible early on due to the lingering smoke in the hills. The papers are full of stories about how they start. There was a picture of lighters collected, possibly left by picnickers but seems careless to me. I think there was also a story of a lady going round lighting candles in different spots in the hills. Hopefully it's not for some archaic religious reason or even a cultural thing. Although if she's doing it maliciously she wants locking up. My host told me about a German chap burning his used toilet roll. If only it would have been connected at the time!

As I type this I am currently drinking a flat white at Costa in Porto airport. If I could have something else then I would! I shouldn't grumble though; its that spread of brands and tourism that has built this really modern airport with its useful Tourist Information staff that managed to decipher my broken Spanish and clarified which bus I need to get.

A funny thing happened today. As we landed at Porto, there was a sigh of relief from a number of passengers followed by clapping and cheering. This really baffles me. Why do people think it perfectly acceptable to applaud someone for doing something they have trained years to do and actually get paid for? I would have understood if it was a day release prisoner flying the plane or a work experience student. But as the image of these two groups flying a plane is utterly farcical (even by Ryan Air's standards) I can't see why such an act warranted applause.

Don't get me wrong, when people do a good job they should have this acknowledged. Indeed, praise to blame ratio should be 3:1. Sir Alex Ferguson said that in order to motivate others the power of a good well done can move mountains. One of my mentors thought exactly the same and I employ this strategy with my students. But say I went to a Michelin starred restaurant and paid through the nose for beautiful food, I wouldn't then applaud the chef at the end. An electrician rewires your house and charges you. Do you pop the bow tie on and recite Nessum Dorma?

Is the applause a cultural thing? A class thing? A nationality thing? This blog post has finished. I'll take my seat for applause.

So it has reached that time, dear reader, when I begin the journey into the world of blogging once more.

I am not a serial blogger, neither a cereal blogger, although there are some excellent breakfast legumes available these days. All one needs to do is to consult my housemate/ landlord/ Land Baron.

Tomorrow will see the start of my biennial pilgrimage to Pontevedra. I must take a bus from Porto airport to Vigo on a Friday evening first, however. This is one source of impending anxiety but I shall try and enjoy it.

Another source of impending anxiety is a house move which I am trying to engineer whilst out of the country. At least I am not about to start a new job as well otherwise it could be catastrophic!

I am going to try and include some photos with the blog this time so you can see what I have been up to, or I can at least account for what I am saying in some way. No doubt no one is particularly interested in all of this but I will write it regardless, me being an educator an' all!

New year Food

As a result of a discussion with a friend, I decided to stay in this New Year’s Eve and cook. I was sharing the cooking with a number of people and the theme was to be Tapas. Now we have all had tapas and if you haven’t then please read this blog before you buy it in a restaurant.

I am by no means an expert in food and certainly not Tapas. However I did sample some delicious food in Galicia in the summer of 2014 and used this to inspire some of the dishes I cooked. With Galician cooking, the focus is simplicity and freshness. I could manage the simplicity, it being a huge part of my life and general being. The freshness I couldn’t quite deal with. Fresh scallops in Leeds? A luxury just above my price band.  I did cook little Queen scallops but tried to do it in the Galician way, minus the freshness. Some will say that that isn’t Galician at all. Oh well.

Firstly I chopped a lot of garlic. I mean a lot. I think I chopped a whole bulb of garlic. IU also acquired a lot of olive oil. Probably half a pint for not a lot of seafood. I then proceeded to gently heat some of the oil and some of the garlic in a pan then add the rest of the garlic then the prawns. I added pimento towards the end, a quick stir and served with lemon. I did pretty much the same with the scallops but cooked them a little longer.

Food is a great unifier. When thinking about the great historical moments of our times and the times of those gone long before us, food is not too far away. New Years Eve, normally a drag for me, “It’s just another day isn’t it?!” was transformed into a stupendous food-gasm with a veritable smorgasbord of treats and delights. Again, along the garlic theme, two guests brought home made aioli and mini chorizo sausages tightly packed with flavour. I created albondigas in a rich tomato sauce with a lot of sherry and, unsurprisingly, garlic.

But what is the point of me telling you this long and, frankly, boring account? Because even though there was simplicity in the making, the eating was a delight. Served with fresh crusty bread and fresh lemon, this food was delicious. The almost psychosis-inducing intensity of the garlic took me back to sitting outside the fag-end in Pontevedra with Colin and Dwight and it was a joy. (Note, dear readers, that this is not a comment on the company, which, to be honest, was a darn sight better on NYE.)

A belated happy new year to you all.

Life is like Empanada

You never know what you're going to get. Well, not entirely. But after visiting a number of tapas bars in Pontevedra it is evident that the recipe, or more specifically, the main filling of empanada (a flat pastry with a filling) varies from place to place. Some bars buy theirs from the local bakery. Most people buy from the bakery. Indeed, what some consider late but around here seems to be early (11.30am) people can be seen carrying armfuls of fresh bread from the local bakers. It is wonderful that there are a multitude of independent bakers all seemingly managing to keep hold of business after Spain´s economic problems of late. The fillings of the empanada can be something as simple as tuna or corn (maize) or scallops, mussels or similar shell fish, octopus or beef. Very seldom do you find a vegetable filling and hardly ever will you find cheese here. Bang goes my suggestion of ricotta and spinach with broccoli then.

In El Pais yesterday there was an article about the lifted ban on Romero and his path to Beatification (Sainthood). They included the picture of his assassination which I thought was thought provoking. The UK media would never include that. There was also a picture of a dead woman on the front page. My host remarked ¨The Spanish like blood¨ and it took me back to seeing the statues of Christ in agony covered in droplets of blood in the various churches i have visited so far.

I read this morning that the John Lewis group have withdrawn their free coffee and cake for their customers. Instead they will give free refreshments to those based on their shopping habits and the frequency that they visit said stores. A part of me thought they were completely correct in this. The fact that they have given this away for so long is a huge feat. It is slightly similar in Spanish bars. When you order a drink you get a small tapas dish. This could be an anchovy on bread or some pieces of cheese or even a little dish of soup. I like this, and, whilst they are not giving it away totally free of charge, it is a sweet custom that really makes this country endearing.

And finally, my students received their GCSE results today. I achieved an above average overall of 81% A*-C and 37% A*-A. Not as good as last year´s however still making an impact and very deserved results on the whole for that particular year group. I have learnt some lessons from this set of results that shall inform my teaching and general attitude next year.

Pontevedra 2 and other musings

So I see that the Pope has ´lifted the ban´on Oscar Romero becoming a Saint. Perhaps we can expect Romero to feature in the PRs from Rome very shortly. No doubt all those priests and lay people who supported the previous Pope´s decision as Head of the CDF will now be rejoicing in this new Pope´s action. I ask you! This has been long awaited. Romero´s (and those who came before and after him) actions in El Salvador during the troubled times should have been recognised by the hierarchy of the Church a long time ago.

Anyway, back to the beautiful surroundings of Pontevedra. I visited the church of A Virxe de Peregrina which was built in 1778 and forms part of the Portugese Camino to Santiago. The church is beautiful both inside and out. You rise the 30 or so steep steps into a very long dark interior. But the array of side chapels transforms the interior. All the statues of Jesus on the cross show him in absolute agony, bloody dribbling from his forehead. It is certainly an image.

Yesterday we took a trip to the Pilgrimage site of Santiago de Compostela. The story around how the remains of St James got to Santiago is almost farcical. My favourite is that the remains arrived in a concrete boat up the river and dumped them on the banks of the river. The main church itself is beautiful, if plagued by scaffolding. There is an image of St James killing Muslims in one of the side chapels but the murdered Muslims are now hidden by flowers.

And finally we had dinner in a bar yesterday for lunch. We had the meal of the day-rice with peppers, chicken and octopus followed by fillet of veal and fried potatoes. It again was a showcase of simple

Simplicity is genius

as a course facilitator once remarked during a particularly confusing presentation. It turned out that he was right. The trouble came in trying to convince my colleagues of the same.

Now, as i sit in a sitting room overlooking the town of Pontevedra in Galicia i am pondering the food that I have been privileged to eat since Friday afternoon. So far I have only had Tapas in the town. The most complex meals have been cooked by my host. Well, if you can call curry complex. The Galiceans clearly do if the lack of curry houses around here is anything to go by.

The tapas has so far focussed on the fruits of the sea, mainly octopus and calamari. I have had the battered mini octopus and the larger version. When something is battered here it is seasoned with a little salt and pepper and then lemon juice is squeezed over the top. That is it. There isn´t the need (or want!) to do anything more with it. Simple cooking at its finest. If Jamie Oliver has taught us anything in the last ten years from his TV shows, it is that the quality of the ingredients (source etc) really does matter. Indeed, this is especially pertinent given that last summer (or perhaps the summer before) we were dealing with the horse meat scandal in the UK. Hopefully food is in a far more stable condition now.

I have just finished reading ´Life´by Keith Richards. In it, in the final chapter he gives his recipe for Bangers n Mash. The first process is ´find a butcher who makes his sausages fresh.´Again, regardless of the flavour, he focusses on the need to know the origin of the sausages and ensure that they are fresh. I was tasting calamari on my first night, it was about 8.45pm and I lapped it up. My host remarked ´no, this isn´t as fresh as it could be...we should have been here at 8.15.´

We ordered chorizo this lunchtime. It arrived, cooked in the creole style which for the people round here meant less pimenton and more chilli...basically. Again, very simple way of cooking food.

Tonight is the last evening of the fiesta season (if I have got that wrong then please let me know.) and will be marked with lots of fireworks going off around midnight, probably announcing to the town that it is now party time (!). There were fireworks on Friday evening, marking the end of the Feast of the Assumption. It has been nice to catch some of the events of the fiesta, even if this is the end and I have only just arrived in town. However I did spot a colleague of mine from Leeds in the street this afternoon. He was on a road trip of Spain and was in Pontevedra for one night only. The luck! Last night we had a walk around the stalls. Think Ilson fair but 4 times bigger, warmer and friendlier. There was a stall doing A4 framed sheets with your name on and all the nice things that it represents. I´ve had ones in the past ranging from ´born leader´to ´family man.´ But you never see the negative aspects of a name. ´Jack: utter bastard, serial adulterer, trust at your peril.´If you have anything else to add then let me know. I would be more than happy to return the favour.

A food post

Friends will be aware of my developing love of food. I suppose to look at me you would think I enjoy my food-you would be correct! But in the past 3 years or so I have really begun to hone my skills and  reflect on  my food philosophy. For me, cooking from scratch is essential, and I look for new techniques and ingredients to use, as well as picking up ideas from the plethora of food programmes on the TV.

Now, I happen to think that Rick Stein is a bit over the top. He not only provides you with a recipe but a rolling commentary of the history and context of the area he visits as well as an almost poetic delivery of his thoughts on food and life in general. Whilst I do not always appreciate this (show us the cooking, Rick!) I have really enjoyed his series on Spain from a few years ago. I recall the joy he had in his voice when he explained the process of creating pimenton.

He visited Santiago de Compostela in Northern Spain as part of the trip and, as I will be visiting this particular area of Spain shortly, I watched with great interest. You can view the clip here. Pay special attention to how they cook cockles in the market!

This blog is an introduction to a series of posts I intend to complete over the next two or so weeks about the food I shall be tasting and the cooking I shall see.

Can't quite place it...

In April of this year we heard of the news that Levon Helm, the troubadour at the heart of The Band had passed away. I wrote an article on his autobiography This Wheel’s on Fire however I wanted to offer another piece along the same lines, but this time on the revival of folk music in Britain.

For me, the style of American folk which I love (that of place names, historic struggles and battles, ditties about carpenters, fishermen and the sunny side of life) has never managed to come to the fore in British popular music. Apart from listening to Bob Harris’s country broadcast on BBC Radio 2, access to British folk for me has been limited. That is until Mumford and Sons arose a few years ago. For me, Mumford and Sons epitomise that early folk sound of the Band; a rip-roaring cacophony of instruments and harmonic voices creating a spine tingling moment. For a modern Rag Mama Rag check out I Will Wait or Little Lion Man. They may start slow but soon get going.

Lyrics-wise, Mumford are generally emotion-centric, like many artists of the current generation. Personally, I have found the most liberating piece of new folk music to be Two Fingers by Jake Bugg. Biased I may be. I don’t profess to have championed Bugg’s early musical life. To be honest, I only discovered him in the summer but I cannot stop listening to the Nottingham-born boy now.

Jake Bugg refers to Clifton in his Two Fingers. Not referring to a desolate outpost in Mississippi, no. Clifton is a suburb of Nottingham. For someone who re-wrote Dylan’s Oxford Town with lyrics about Ilson Town I find myself optimistic to this public acceptance of English place names. Perhaps Ralph McTell shares this too?

Now I don’t pretend I’m a wordsmith. I received a shit shit shit thesaurus for Christmas. I do know, however, what words sound good, and I know that some place names sound more Romantic than others. For example Memphis, Tennessee sounds nicer than Leeds, West Yorkshire. Folsom Prison feels like a dirtier establishment than Dover Immigration Removal Centre. Rock Island Line has a greater ring to it than Midland Mainline.

The Americans go a further step by using places in their names. I am unsure why this is the case, but perhaps it gave them a greater prominence when trying to market records. The Tennessee Two, Mississippi John Hurt, Bull City Red, Alger Texas Alexander, Louisiana Red, Memphis Slim, Memphis Minnie, St Louis Jimmy Oden, the great Kokomo Arnold and, finally my favourite, Lafayette Thomas. I doubt we will ever see the likes of Nottingham Norris, Camden Chris, Headingley Harry, Richmond Ritchie and the Thames Two but for now, a little mention of a UK town in a song will do for me.

Happy New Year!

Must dash...

So, I have started to grow a beard. Well, ive nearly entered my third week of beard growth. However according to beard.org, I should leave it for at least 4 weeks first before even attempting to shape or style it.

I have certainly experienced the usual comments:

Lost your razor?

Being lazy?

But then after about a week and a half I started to get more interested comments:

Are you growing a beard?

It suits you

Nice whiskers

Now I have bearded colleagues offering me advice and help. The most recent one went along these lines: "I know you probably don't have any of this, but if you do have some conditioner, then you should try that." Well actually, dear reader, I have a Lush facial scrub with lavender oils and sometimes use a conditioner now and again to keep my face soft and soothed. I have had to wash my face mid-way through the day but this is seldom.

So, am I glad that i've decided to keep up with the growth? Definitely. From the articles I have read, a beard is a sign of manliness. It's also a sign of committment and dedication. Yes, it's easy to start to grow a beard. But the constant comments, the itchy face and the subconscious twirling does niggle me but it seems well worth it.

For an interesting selection of sites about beard growth check about the manliness blog and a comprehensive site about everything beard related.

Arrival in Marrakech

The time on my phone read 02:15. The taxi was coming at 3 and I awoke, dizzy and drained. I had been drugging myself up on Benylin and pain killers, flu plus and anaesthetic throat lozenges. I had been swigging from the bottle all day and now I was feeling really awful. We took a taxi from Bushey to Gatwick. I was drifitng in and out of sleep. We headed to the check in queue. Walking round the ropes, round and round I was taken back to the time I had over-indulged on a trip to Holland and was struggling to stand up at Passport control in Calais. Anyway, back to the present. I was dizzy, white, sweating and needed my freakin Benylin! I had to duck under the rope, run to the toilet and, well there ya go. Start as ya mean to go on!

Skip forward three hours and the plane is setting off. EasyJet, the pioneers of budget air travel. Always remember big ole Stelios on that programme talking about his company. What started off as a routine take off procedure turned into the biggest bloody shit storm of money making opportunities. The EasyJet flight crew should have been called the EasyJet Commercial Team. Every few minutes they were selling something. I remembered the words of one of the staff "We hope you have a relaxing flight!" How the fuck can  I relax when you're asking me if I want a drink, a snack, Hello or The Times, booze, fags, perfume, gadgets, more snacks, more drinks, lottery tickets then...a collection for UNICEF. The charity collection was almost delivered as an after-thought. I searched through the in-flight magazine for any mention of UNICEF. It was on a page towards the back after the posture pedic chair adverts and DIY Shagging. What a joke.

Anyway, we arrived in Marrakech and it was about 9.30. The heat wasn't so imposing, it being only 25c. It soon heated up when we paid 15 Euros to travel 3 miles in a taxi.

Doing the needful...

One can never fully prepare for the rigours of international travel; in my opinion, anyway. This is especially compounded when traveling to a country and especially a continent you have never ventured to before. As much as preparing for something such as this is important, as long as you can just “do the needful” (a suggestion when traveling to Bangladesh some years ago) then I am willing to open up my senses and mind to new experiences and “chance” some parts of my holiday.

I have read and heard so much about the city of Marrakech. I think I was first made aware of the magic of this Moroccan travel haven through The Apprentice and was amazed by the colour and diversity of the place. Then, when a good friend suggested earlier this year that he may embark on a trip and was wondering if I would accompany him, I thought why not? And now, seven months down the road I find myself writing up a list for my holiday there. With space a tricky thing to manage (one hold bag between three) I am trying to pack light and economical but this is to prove tricky as we near the trip departure day.

I think back, again, to when I traveled to Bangladesh in 2009. I was working for CAFOD at the time and the charity and its partners in Dhaka had “done the needful” and all I had to do was pack then turn up to Stansted on the day. I packed a rucksack full of items but I had only reached half of my 25 kilo limit. I had done the sensible thing and packed my lightest and worn my heaviest. I recall turning up at the house of a colleague and the look on his face sort of read is that it? Where is the rest of your stuff? That evening I experienced a different evening in London, relaxing in his garden whilst the evening Summer sun peaked through the tall trees and I treated myself to a few cheeky Continental beers prior to bed time. One thing I failed to mention, however, was that I’d left all of my toiletries in Ilkeston. That meant a trip to the Tesco Express to raid their stash of Diarolyte, Jungle Remedy, Ambre Solaire and Colgate. I thought best to exclude my usually obligatory Durex. Hope springs eternal and all that jazz!

When I got to Bangladesh I found that I used some things more than others (and would have had no use for the prophylactic anyway). So when I do leave for Morocco on Sunday morning I think I shall be entering over-prepared in the true British sense, but, as long as I have done the needful then I need not worry about anything else. 

The Band

If you're not aware of the American band The Band who wrote songs such as The Weight, Rag Mama Rag and co-wrote with and worked alongside Bob Dylan then the first thing you need to do is read up on them then listen to some of the songs. This blog post will concentrate on their albums and musical direction as documented in This Wheels On Fire written by Levon Helm, arguably the group's founding member.

Levon dedicates much to his early life and his life on the road with The Hawks and then a sizeable chunk on the early life of The Band and their recording successes of the first few years. Levon writes with passion and a love for his music. And, even though he notes his importance and his worth as a musician, he does not hold back on thanking his companions for their talent and direction, specifically Garth Hudson.

I first heard about the Band from a creaky old VHS which was in a dusty cardboard sleeve and simply read 'The Last Waltz' on two sheets of masking tape written in a black biro, my Dad's shooty handwriting. I was curious to watch it so after my parents went out shopping one morning I drew the curtains and popped it in. I was a bit disappointed when, instead of an adult art film it turned out to be a couple of spindly guys on stage playing rock and roll. I noticed some of the names which flashed on the screen too; Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Dr John... (luckily, my parents thought it right and true to doctrinate me in their faith: music. I was aware of these artists from LPs and tapes which were strewn around the floor of my Dad's old green VW Beetle.)

As I watched this tape and learnt more about their story, my body shaked with excitement. Even now when I hear the first few bars of Rag Mama Rag I feel a shiver down my spine. Music is great when it does that to you! I switched off the video and placed everything back in its place. Clearly, my life had been changed forever and the way I viewed music had altered.

I forgot about the Band for several years. I was going through a period where it seemed ok to say no to your parents. Where it was morally wrong to agree with them on anything, even if you would rationally have agreed to it anyway. Rag Mama Rag came on the radio whilst Dad was dropping me off at work one evening. I was filling shelves in Wilkinson's and, instead of rushing out to the excitement of work for another 4 hours, I stayed in the car and listened. At that point, there seemed to be a connection between my Dad and I. The next day we were off to Nottingham to buy The Band on CD. It is their second album and I think, their best. We played it all the way through then I played it again. I was hypnotised by Helm's rhythmic drumming and the combination of three or so voices. This wasn't like the Beatles. This was something different. The music of The Band was drenched in the earth, each song dripped experience and hardship. It wasn't so much "I love you baby, yeah" more like "My baby left me and my harvest was bad...i'm dying, but i've still got some whisky left." Only those who have immersed themselves in The Band will know what I mean.

Anyway, it's clear from their first two albums, Music From Big Pink and The Band that the group were at their creative best during this time. Helm remarks that during this time they had not been damaged by money. They were just loving the creative process of song writing and recording and they buzzed from it. They were not bothered about song writing credits as Helm thought that as the whole band had created it it didn't matter. However, the song writing credits are extremely important as that is where the majority of the royalties go. Tthe majority of the songs on the album were written by a mixture of the members but all the world thought they were written by 'J.R.Robertson' or Robbie Robertson. He was the lead guitarist and very much the business man. He worked and built up a close relationship with Albert Grossman (the notorious penny pinching manager of Bob Dylan) and I suspect some underhand tactics had resulted in Robertson pocketing the money. As a result, there was a lot of resentment between Helm and Robertson and then when they began work on their third album, Stage Fright, there seemed to be less of that creative spark. True, the album is still a terrific one, probably the most consistent sound, but who wants consistency? We want to be challenged, our ears have been trained to seek oit new and different sounds. The commercial failure of this album also showed The Band that they would have to change. Unfortunately, they didn't, and The Last Waltz was the last time the Band performed together in its original lineup.

Listening in a different way

In my job I often get told that someone needs to listen more. Or, more appropriately, they need to listen in a different way. Perhaps they aren't listening to the things they should. Perhaps they are not taking in what they should be listening to.

I sort of know what I am telling them to do. Otherwise, why would I tell them?

Yesterday I was watching Sky Arts and saw a cracking documentary on the Doors' eponymous and debut album from the late 1960s. It was the first Doors album I bought and love most of the songs on it. In last night's documentary they seemed to make a number of subtle comparisons between the songs of the Doors and the Beatles, perhaps suggesting that, musically, the Doors were more talented and therefore perhaps deserved more success, or more recognition for their songs. At one point a music critic, on speaking about The End said "well it ain't no Obla-Di Obla-Da is it?!"

The program (which is being repeated a lot at the moment) looked at the majority of the songs from that album and looked at how they were made. What musical parts contributed to the songs, and what the thinking was behind each one. They said that to be in the Doors, you needed to be able to do more than three chords. Indeed, the poetic lyrics of Morrison, the bass keys then treble of Manzarek, the at-times bossa nova beat of Densmore, and an almost inhuman, magical guitar of Krieger made the Doors one of the greatest bands which ever blessed those sacreds airwaves.

So, next time you listen to the Doors, don't just listen to them. Really, really listen!