I am not a beach person. I couldn't give a figleaf for the Maldives or St Tropez. The sand gets in my sandwiches and my orifices, I burn in the sun and I have to be careful with seafood. I know how to swim, but if I am forced to do so, I'd much rather it was in a swimming pool, preferably one with a bar in it where I might sip a pina colada between widths, rather than dicing with death in the briny, in which, as W.C.Fields reminded us, fish procreate, humans defecate and which often has a fairly violent nature. Swimming pools don't have sharks in them as a rule.
I do like a good river though. I was born on the banks of Old Father Thames at its most majestic point (Westminster, not the Dartford Crossing) and have always had respect for a Proper River. As I child I caught my first travel bug on the Woolwich Ferry, and spent many a happy summer with cousin Vera at Shiplake, in our jobs as First and Second Mates on Captain Uncle John's Daily Mirror fibreglass dinghy (HMS Ollie Beak), fishing for roach, or in the odd very hot summer swimming in the river.
It seemed a lot bigger then
I misspent a good deal of my youth at the Thames-side taverns of Greenwich, holding Arthur Smith's pint of smooth for him while he recited the naughty bits of T.S.Eliot: "By Richmond I raised my knees, Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe ..... weilala leia, wallala leialala ... ".
I misspent my twenties and a good part of my thirties on, and often under, the bridges of Paris, screaming under the Pont Bir Hakeim fancying I bore a faint resemblance to Maria Schneider, gazing romantically at the Eiffel Tower from the Pont Alexandre III, or cruising up the Seine on a bateau-mouche while Edith Piaf songs warbled from the tannoy. I'm definitely more river than riviera.
A city needs a proper river. I cannot take Brussels seriously as it only has a canal. There was once a river here called the Senne, which was built over. Bits of it emerge in the south of the city, but it's nowt but a trickle, you'd be hard pressed even to call it a stream. A babbling brook, nothing more. Pffft. And they haven't done much with the canal, which in places seems to serve as a rubbish tip. There are no chic canalside restaurants, no pleasant towpaths along which to stroll on a Sunday. Just derelict factories and flats, and once a year a fake beach. Shame on you, Brussels town hall.
Next Monday I am setting off on a motoring tour of the Chateaux of the Loire. The Loire is a magnificent river, running for over 1,000 kilometers from the hills of the Ardèche northwards, and then west, to its outflow into the Atlantic at Nantes. It loops and meanders, it has islands and beaches and a great deal of it goes through wine country. I shall be overnighting in Saumur and Chinon, and taking in Bourgueil, Pouilly and Sancerre. Which might be an indication that the Chateaux are not the only focus of my trip.
I shall however keep an eye on the property market with a view to a retirement home...
Happy Easter everyone! Back in two weeks with some lovely photos I hope.
I'm packing my James Blunt CD as we speak.
I do like a good river though. I was born on the banks of Old Father Thames at its most majestic point (Westminster, not the Dartford Crossing) and have always had respect for a Proper River. As I child I caught my first travel bug on the Woolwich Ferry, and spent many a happy summer with cousin Vera at Shiplake, in our jobs as First and Second Mates on Captain Uncle John's Daily Mirror fibreglass dinghy (HMS Ollie Beak), fishing for roach, or in the odd very hot summer swimming in the river.
It seemed a lot bigger thenI misspent a good deal of my youth at the Thames-side taverns of Greenwich, holding Arthur Smith's pint of smooth for him while he recited the naughty bits of T.S.Eliot: "By Richmond I raised my knees, Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe ..... weilala leia, wallala leialala ... ".
I misspent my twenties and a good part of my thirties on, and often under, the bridges of Paris, screaming under the Pont Bir Hakeim fancying I bore a faint resemblance to Maria Schneider, gazing romantically at the Eiffel Tower from the Pont Alexandre III, or cruising up the Seine on a bateau-mouche while Edith Piaf songs warbled from the tannoy. I'm definitely more river than riviera.
A city needs a proper river. I cannot take Brussels seriously as it only has a canal. There was once a river here called the Senne, which was built over. Bits of it emerge in the south of the city, but it's nowt but a trickle, you'd be hard pressed even to call it a stream. A babbling brook, nothing more. Pffft. And they haven't done much with the canal, which in places seems to serve as a rubbish tip. There are no chic canalside restaurants, no pleasant towpaths along which to stroll on a Sunday. Just derelict factories and flats, and once a year a fake beach. Shame on you, Brussels town hall.
Not exactly Amsterdam is it?
Photo: Lieven Soete www.bruxel.org
Photo: Lieven Soete www.bruxel.org
Next Monday I am setting off on a motoring tour of the Chateaux of the Loire. The Loire is a magnificent river, running for over 1,000 kilometers from the hills of the Ardèche northwards, and then west, to its outflow into the Atlantic at Nantes. It loops and meanders, it has islands and beaches and a great deal of it goes through wine country. I shall be overnighting in Saumur and Chinon, and taking in Bourgueil, Pouilly and Sancerre. Which might be an indication that the Chateaux are not the only focus of my trip.
I shall however keep an eye on the property market with a view to a retirement home...
Happy Easter everyone! Back in two weeks with some lovely photos I hope.
I'm packing my James Blunt CD as we speak.
2 comments:
What magnificent looking castles, milady! Maria Schneider surely never dreamt of retiring in such a residence while being set upon by Brando with butter on his fingers. May the crew be deserving of your tips.
i know what you mean about living near water, sugar! i grew up near the pacific ocean and now i live on the intracoastal waterways of the atlantic ocean. across the street from my home is the marshfront of the vernonberg river. there's something to be said about the smell of water and the sea. i can't imagine not living on water's edge. enjoy your holiday,s darling! xoxoxox
Post a Comment