I've finally figured it out.

Ok, I admit to being a little bemused by the vote to leave Europe. What was the reason so many voted for the leave campaign?
Was it Farrage’s personality?
Er, no.
Was it Johnson’s ability to lie? After, he’s one of the few journalists fired for lying. Imagine that!
No.
I’ve finally figured it out. It’s Gove’s ideology.
Everyone knows that when Gove ran the health service, he wanted to ditch evidence based science and the rational use of medicines for homeopathy.
That’s it! The £350 million a week is not to be spent on actual stuff, it’s to be spent on NOTHING. Yes! All the promises will be diluted down (it’s already happening) until there is not a single promise left in a volume the size of the entire solar system!
Genius!
Magic!
Everyone loves a good magician, so we’ll done everyone who voted for the wizard.
One good thing to come out of this debacle is that the vast majority of the young voters voted using empathy, consideration of others, a lack of racism, a lack of greed, and thought for the future. After all, it is their future.
I’m proud of them, but, today, I’m ashamed to be British.

About Time

Time is relative.

Time and relatives. Now there’s a story…

Doctor Who famously described time as a big ball of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey, stuff. He should know.

It certainly varies hugely from place to place and person to person.

Take the other weekend as an example. In France, May is traditionally packed end-to-end with bank holidays. This year, they tried experimenting by stuffing in an extra one.

Everybody in France knew this. Everybody except us…

We set off north in our newly renovated camper van. The roads were empty, the supermarkets closed. Strange for a Thursday, maybe the financial crisis has hit harder than I thought.

We stopped, on the way, next to a lake north of Limoge, where Sky professed her love for water.

We did the usual stuff, checking out the local old buildings in Mortemar…

…even wandering into the local deity establishments.

So far so good.

This was not to last…

We were heading for the amazing French version of a theme park, Le Puy du Fou. We had our first clue that all was not as it should be when parking in the special motorhome area. Here were well over a thousand vans, replete with teeming masses. Not a good sign.

Thus followed a day of mahousive queues.

This park has some seriously amazing shows featuring seriously amazing special effects.

This would normally be good but, alas, to queue for two hours to see each show does dampen one’s spirits somewhat…

We were with Annick’s siblings.

This is a close family. Big and close.

This was a truly exhausting day, where time concertinad between laborious queues and exciting shows.

We fell into bed comatose that night, ready for our journey home.

On leaving the next morning, we stopped off on the coast near Bordeaux, the Isle d'Oléron.

We had fallen directly into a giant trap.

This island, a somewhat larger version of Barry Island in South Wales, had been attracting the masses over the holiday period like flies to a warm dead thing.

We were next to the sea, so took Sky for her first visit to an ocean.

Strangely, Sky, the well known water dog, discovered that water can fight back. She is actually scared of the sea. Wimp.

The accumulated masses of holidaymakers all left the island at the same moment. Along with us. What should have been a three hour journey home turned into a twelve hour bore-fest with the giant autoroute car park being battered at the same time by violent storms.

Nice.

Time had seemingly been stretched thinly over the canvas of that four day period. Time, however, can also be stretched in other ways in other dimensions. Time can be stretched and confounded by things other than planetary masses. It can be confounded by family.

My wife’s family is nearly ubiquitous. They seem to be everywhere all of the time. Kinda scary but also kinda comforting. My side of the family however are somewhat more scarce. Both in number and in proximity.

Take my brother for instance. Go on, take him. Here he is…

He and I see each other rarely. The last time was two years ago when we cast mum’s ashes into the void. (Lake Windermere actually.)

We have both taken very different paths in life. Very different. And yet, as if by the hand of some ever present but invisible Hand of Fate, we have both arrived, in our dotage, in very similar places. Very similar.

The reasons for our seperate paths may have been, in a way, responsible for keeping us apart, but there were other factors that neither of us were aware of before we met again, some sunny day.

That time has been lost to us, but whatever the causes, we have to put them where they belong, in the past.

And so, dear readers, to the present. An invitation to visit Mallorca and join my big Bruv and his missus for a few days of relaxation.

The world held its breath. Was this to be a long awaited burying of the hatchet? Where was it to be buried?

The omens were not favourable. We were to take off that morning in an Airbus A320 from Bordeaux to Palma. The very same morning that an A320 had disappeared over the Mediterranean!

Obviously we made it.

We started our visit in a restaurant overlooked by the stunning Palma cathedral…

…and then on to the equally stunning abode of my only sibling…

We settled in, relaxed, and spoke of other times…

The next day we were taken on a quick tour of Polenca…

Including the 365 steps…

…to catch a view of the Mallorcan skyline…

Then a quick stop in a bar…

…before checking out more old buildings…

Next day we boarded their Gin Palace, a huge sea going boat thingy with motors and stuff.

…zooming off toward the distant horizon…

…and generally doing boaty stuff.

Well. What do you know? The long lost brothers back together again.

About bloody time.

The first of many.

The full story of the rise, fall and rise of our motorhome is one I will save for another day. The result of that fiasco, however, is that the poor soul (yes, motorhomes have souls, in exactly the same way that we do) has been in temporary retirement for quite a few years. Now, refurbished, it lives again, and last weekend saw a trial run to check that it was all hunky dory. It performed magnificently.

This was also meant to be the first of very many trips of my retirement. However, due to the bank, solicitors and, well, the bank’s solicitors, my retirement was once more delayed. After producing out of a hat a completely new, never before seen, unreadable and unsignable document at midday on the day of completion (nice try bank) my retirement was delayed another week. (I’m finally there!)

Our trip was to the beautiful Dordogne:

We stayed the weekend in a campsite in Sarlat…

…with friends Ian and Mifa.

I love wandering around old towns, and Sarlat-Le-Canéda is no exception. Rich with architecture and history. From grand edifices…

…to the quaint but slightly surreal.

As is usual, there is the obligatory market…

…thankfully offset by the obligatory cafés…

I love the stonework…

…the detail…

…the flowers and, er, geese….

…and cognac!

After a couple of days we headed back south making a few stops en route.

First stop Beynac, a riverside village where Ian once lived a while in tax exile…

No, not actually in that actual castle dominating the skyline however, but among the lower streets where the peasants lived…

…where they could look up at their lords and masters…

Well, the trip worked out extremely well, with our home on wheels performing well, although the new gps seemed to be intent on leading us astray.

We are now readying ourselves for the next trip, to Puy Du Fou, further into northern French territory. We’re meeting there with Annick’s siblings to enjoy the attractions. Should be interesting. I’m told it is more theatrical and adult than a normal theme park. My hopes are high for some adult entertainment. Nudge nudge, wink wink…

Anyway, I’ll leave you with some random photos of Sarlat, starting with the Lanterns of the Dead…

Enjoy!