... is located under the lid of a marmite jar, apparently. According to this family in Wales, the face of Jesus is imprinted in this lid. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/wales/8071865.stm
Hmmmm. Some people might need to get out more, recognise the miracles that happen around us ever day, and switch to Vegemite, people!!
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Final fling at Caerphilly...
After all the foreign focus in our lives right now, it was kinda grounding to head back to Caerphilly this weekend, for one last event (for a little while, at least) with the Company of Chivalry. Sadly, I was senza Anthony, (who was doing what we hope might become the first of numerous paid gigs at the Tower of London!), but after half a dozen events, this castle is starting to feel a bit like home, and there aren't too many parts of it that I haven't now explored. This trip, we managed to camp in the inner bailey, which is gorgeous - although more of a hassle for carting water, which has to be carried up from the outer bailey and across the drawbridge... sigh. Life is so harsh and cruel. Being chief kitchen wench I had to order other people to fetch and carry for me all weekend.
May has seen a spate of company birthdays, so there were gifts and much silliness on the Saturday night: including a broomstick from Si Atford for our resident 'witch-cum-wise-woman' Kate, who was turning a number ending in one. And she STILL doesn't look a day over 35.
The show this weekend revolved around a 'seige' theme, culminating in our bailey being stormed and everyone dying gloriously. I hit on the idea of defending the women of the keep (who had been sent to the kitchens for safety, my handing them all very large wooden spoons as weapons, and going in to clout the soldiers with a massive frypan. Made the public laugh, anyhoo!
Company events now have something of a familiar routine to them, which is comforting. Up at 7 to get brekky ready for 'as soon as drill finishes', just after 8am. Round up the lads with the biggest hangovers (or anyone else the Sargent has put on a charge) to scrub out the pots, put dinner on a spit and chill out til mid morning, when it's time to start making lunch. Wander between the roles of kitchen wench and wandering minstrel for most of the rest of the day, with occasional cameo in shows for the public. Have dinner ready for about 7. Drink, talk nonsense, sing songs, fall over. Not a bad life really.
I'm gonna miss these guys - and I know Ants is gonna miss them lots. We feel like we've become part of the 'Company' family, and it's rather special to be adopted so quickly.
You buggers better come and visit!!!!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Fact finding mission 'a Roma'
The timing couldn't have been more, errr, timely. Given that we were already in Milan, what was a girl to do but take an extra coupla days off and start getting orientated in Rome.
I confess, me and the holy city didn't get off to a great start. My plane from Milan was late, so I hit town near midnight, with everything more or less shut - including the first 3 ATMs I found, in a futile attempt to get cash to pay for my room. Then I couldn't find my hostel - a helpful old boy had sent me in completely the wrong direction - and I was almost in tears when, 90 minutes later and exhausted, I realised that it really was only 200metres from the station...
My 'mixed dorm' turned out to house me and 5 blokes (so technically, yes, a mixed dorm), including Sleep Apnoea guy, a very large, 40-something bloke who had left his CPAP machine back in the States... I have never heard anything like it, and I will say no more.
Two hours sleep wasn't quite the preparation I wanted before going to meet my new boss, but the metro and the train were blessedly easy to use the next morning, and I arrived almost on time, met my boss, learned lots about the job (it's going to be as fun, and as crazy, as I expected, and I will need to be a VERY good bureaucrat to do well here), met my future colleagues and left 90 minutes later with my head spinning with thoughts of 'holy crap, I'm going to WORK HERE!!'
Next mission was to buy some more appropriate clothes! The weather forecast before we left was for 20oC in Rome - but she'd turned on a 30-degree mini heatwave (unheard of for May, apparently, but that's global warming for ya!) and my jeans and boots were not the right kit to wear. A streetside stall actually had shoes my size, but I was disappointed to learn that, in a nation where women are often barely more than 5 foot tall, and impeccably petite, I am a size XXL when it comes to t-shirts. Oh well, they were 2 euros each. Assuming they survive their first wash, I can always cut out the tags!
Armed with comfy clothes, I started wandering. One of the things I think I'm gonna love about Rome is that many of her most famous attractions can be seen from the outside for absolutely no money at all: the Spanish steps, the Trevi Fountain, Piazza Navona, the Pantheon, the Forum, the Colusseum, countless columns raised by emperors and somehow preserved through the centuries. I found them all, drifting from one to another in a kind of daze, almost numbed by the intense layer of epoch over era that permeates every street, every corner, every statue. It's almost too much for one brain to take in. I felt almost dizzy, and resolved to stop touristing until I could come back and take it in more gradually.
So then I found a lush little gelati shop where I had my first cassata 'a Sicilia', a place that does potato and rosemary pizza, and a stupormarket selling massive punnets of cherries for 1.95. That's about £1.60. And they were fat, sweet and juicy, and so full of flavour. Mmmm.
Next day saw me pound pavements in Trastevere, a 'South-Yarra-meets-Carlton' kinda inner suburb famous for its food, bars and shopping, ideally located for work, and a place we may end up living. It's heavily geared to lunching businessmen and wannabe fashionistas by day, but it's also home to the church of St Cecilial, the roman Christian who refused to die despite 3 days locked in her own sauna, singing herself through the ordeal. They got her in the end, hacking off her head with an axe, but for her pains she's the patron saint of music. her church is gorgeous, and said to have been built on the site of her home.
Trastevere's leafy streets and paved piazzas definitely hold promise - although I was truly won over when I found Sale e Pepe, a cafe that does lunch for 7.50, and a large glass of house wine for another 2 euros...
All too soon it was time to head back to England, to plan, to dream, and to get things happening - we're moving to Rome!
I confess, me and the holy city didn't get off to a great start. My plane from Milan was late, so I hit town near midnight, with everything more or less shut - including the first 3 ATMs I found, in a futile attempt to get cash to pay for my room. Then I couldn't find my hostel - a helpful old boy had sent me in completely the wrong direction - and I was almost in tears when, 90 minutes later and exhausted, I realised that it really was only 200metres from the station...
My 'mixed dorm' turned out to house me and 5 blokes (so technically, yes, a mixed dorm), including Sleep Apnoea guy, a very large, 40-something bloke who had left his CPAP machine back in the States... I have never heard anything like it, and I will say no more.
Two hours sleep wasn't quite the preparation I wanted before going to meet my new boss, but the metro and the train were blessedly easy to use the next morning, and I arrived almost on time, met my boss, learned lots about the job (it's going to be as fun, and as crazy, as I expected, and I will need to be a VERY good bureaucrat to do well here), met my future colleagues and left 90 minutes later with my head spinning with thoughts of 'holy crap, I'm going to WORK HERE!!'
Next mission was to buy some more appropriate clothes! The weather forecast before we left was for 20oC in Rome - but she'd turned on a 30-degree mini heatwave (unheard of for May, apparently, but that's global warming for ya!) and my jeans and boots were not the right kit to wear. A streetside stall actually had shoes my size, but I was disappointed to learn that, in a nation where women are often barely more than 5 foot tall, and impeccably petite, I am a size XXL when it comes to t-shirts. Oh well, they were 2 euros each. Assuming they survive their first wash, I can always cut out the tags!
Armed with comfy clothes, I started wandering. One of the things I think I'm gonna love about Rome is that many of her most famous attractions can be seen from the outside for absolutely no money at all: the Spanish steps, the Trevi Fountain, Piazza Navona, the Pantheon, the Forum, the Colusseum, countless columns raised by emperors and somehow preserved through the centuries. I found them all, drifting from one to another in a kind of daze, almost numbed by the intense layer of epoch over era that permeates every street, every corner, every statue. It's almost too much for one brain to take in. I felt almost dizzy, and resolved to stop touristing until I could come back and take it in more gradually.
So then I found a lush little gelati shop where I had my first cassata 'a Sicilia', a place that does potato and rosemary pizza, and a stupormarket selling massive punnets of cherries for 1.95. That's about £1.60. And they were fat, sweet and juicy, and so full of flavour. Mmmm.
Next day saw me pound pavements in Trastevere, a 'South-Yarra-meets-Carlton' kinda inner suburb famous for its food, bars and shopping, ideally located for work, and a place we may end up living. It's heavily geared to lunching businessmen and wannabe fashionistas by day, but it's also home to the church of St Cecilial, the roman Christian who refused to die despite 3 days locked in her own sauna, singing herself through the ordeal. They got her in the end, hacking off her head with an axe, but for her pains she's the patron saint of music. her church is gorgeous, and said to have been built on the site of her home.
Trastevere's leafy streets and paved piazzas definitely hold promise - although I was truly won over when I found Sale e Pepe, a cafe that does lunch for 7.50, and a large glass of house wine for another 2 euros...
All too soon it was time to head back to England, to plan, to dream, and to get things happening - we're moving to Rome!
Milano
Having come this far, it seemed crazy not to check out Rome, so while the boys and girls from the Company chilled out with yet another round of gelati and coffee, I hitched a ride into Abbiategrasso, the nearest trainstation, in the back of a van driven by the local padre, and packed with about 20 Swedes, on their way into Milan, or back home to prepare for the next gig.
Once we reached town, we went our separate ways, but they were great craic on the way in.
I LOVED Milan. Wide streets, clean and cultured, renaissance to the core, in every way a European city. Folks say it's sterile and standoffish, but I beg to differ.
I walked out of the train station and immediately found myself staring at the Sforza fortress. This place is immense, beautiful and demonstrably built for a very different climate to the castles I'm used to in northern Europe and Britain.
It doesn't take much imagination at all to picture merchants and courtiers conducting business in these three sweeping courtyards, protected from the blazing sun by awnings or shade cloths. From the main entrance, each one is smaller and more intimate than the last, with surely only the favourites admitted through the gateways and wide covered halls into the inner sanctum towards the rear. The timbers of old are long gone, but the post holes are precise and form an artwork of their own on the walls. That's before you even begin looking at the statuary, memorial stones and other carvings - every one a thing of beauty.
I was transfixed - and I'd only come in the side entrance. Leaving by the front, the soaring tower and sprawling fountain were just gorgeous - and cooling in the blazing sun.
Next stop was the church of Santa Maria delle Grazie (I couldn't stop 'hail mary, full of grace' running through my head), which is home to Leonardo Da Vinci's most famous work, the Last Supper. Couldn't go in, because you need to book about a month in advance, but I know for next time.
I got lost finding my way back into town, but liked what I saw of shopping and eating districts. People in the street don't interact with every passer by the way I was to learn that they do in Rome, but they're not standoffish like some French or Germans can be.
Eventually though, I hopped a tram into the town square, a massive edifice dominated by the Duomo (Italy's second largest cathedral, after St Peters in Rome), flanked on one side by a stately palazzo and the other by a gorgeous glass topped shopping mall. This, I will later realise, is the true holy trinity of Italy: God, celebrity and shopping. Maybe not always in that order.
The Duomo is incredible - tall, wide, long, ornate. Special from start to finish, although the thing that still haunts me is the sculpture of St Bartolomeo (Batholomew), who was skinned whilst still alive, and is portrayed with his skin draped, in a single piece over one shoulder, his every muscle discernable. Eugh.
I needed light relief after something like that, and the airy, beautiful mall provided it - and a hidden treat too, because out the other end was a statue of Leonardo da Vinci, flanked by four apprentices and opposite was... La Scala Opera!
After that, I had just enough time to find a gelateria and down the most amazing Almond milk granita (I don't know how they did it, but it's sooo good!) before finding my way back to the train, and thence to the airport.
I'm sure in summer it's insufferable and stuffy, and maybe it is the most expensive city in Italy. But I liked Milan. If this is as bad as it gets, I'm going to love Italy.
Once we reached town, we went our separate ways, but they were great craic on the way in.
I LOVED Milan. Wide streets, clean and cultured, renaissance to the core, in every way a European city. Folks say it's sterile and standoffish, but I beg to differ.
I walked out of the train station and immediately found myself staring at the Sforza fortress. This place is immense, beautiful and demonstrably built for a very different climate to the castles I'm used to in northern Europe and Britain.
It doesn't take much imagination at all to picture merchants and courtiers conducting business in these three sweeping courtyards, protected from the blazing sun by awnings or shade cloths. From the main entrance, each one is smaller and more intimate than the last, with surely only the favourites admitted through the gateways and wide covered halls into the inner sanctum towards the rear. The timbers of old are long gone, but the post holes are precise and form an artwork of their own on the walls. That's before you even begin looking at the statuary, memorial stones and other carvings - every one a thing of beauty.
I was transfixed - and I'd only come in the side entrance. Leaving by the front, the soaring tower and sprawling fountain were just gorgeous - and cooling in the blazing sun.
Next stop was the church of Santa Maria delle Grazie (I couldn't stop 'hail mary, full of grace' running through my head), which is home to Leonardo Da Vinci's most famous work, the Last Supper. Couldn't go in, because you need to book about a month in advance, but I know for next time.
I got lost finding my way back into town, but liked what I saw of shopping and eating districts. People in the street don't interact with every passer by the way I was to learn that they do in Rome, but they're not standoffish like some French or Germans can be.
Eventually though, I hopped a tram into the town square, a massive edifice dominated by the Duomo (Italy's second largest cathedral, after St Peters in Rome), flanked on one side by a stately palazzo and the other by a gorgeous glass topped shopping mall. This, I will later realise, is the true holy trinity of Italy: God, celebrity and shopping. Maybe not always in that order.
The Duomo is incredible - tall, wide, long, ornate. Special from start to finish, although the thing that still haunts me is the sculpture of St Bartolomeo (Batholomew), who was skinned whilst still alive, and is portrayed with his skin draped, in a single piece over one shoulder, his every muscle discernable. Eugh.
I needed light relief after something like that, and the airy, beautiful mall provided it - and a hidden treat too, because out the other end was a statue of Leonardo da Vinci, flanked by four apprentices and opposite was... La Scala Opera!
After that, I had just enough time to find a gelateria and down the most amazing Almond milk granita (I don't know how they did it, but it's sooo good!) before finding my way back to the train, and thence to the airport.
I'm sure in summer it's insufferable and stuffy, and maybe it is the most expensive city in Italy. But I liked Milan. If this is as bad as it gets, I'm going to love Italy.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Morimondo!!
You're probably thinking 'never heard of it', but Morimondo, a 12th century abbey outside Milan, is the stuff of legend amongst Company of Chivalry folk. In the 14th century, Italy was a nation of city states - incredibly wealthy, cultured, and locked in bitter rivalry. Usually headed by a single family (the Viscontis, and later the Sforzas, in Milan, the Borghas in Rome), and all wrapped up in both papal and secular intrigue (it being the time of the Avignon popes).
Into this vipers' nest in the 1360s rode thousands of English mercenaries, mostly former soldiers who found themselves out of work when France and England signed a truce that temporarily halted the Hundred Years' War. These swords for hire were bought time again by the highest bidder and were a major factor in numerous battles. The one commemorated at Morimondo had the English fighting on the side of the hated Viscontis (yes, the family name later gave us the term 'viscount'). And they lost. But our Company is invited back year after year to be part of the show, so in the long run, the English are the winners, really.
There is nothing, absolutely nothing, to beat a multiperiod, international event. Tewkesbury, Trakai,(Lithuania), Trelleborg, and that grandaddy of them all, Hastings, have given me some of my happiest re-enactment memories. Now I have Morimondo, made all the more poignant by our forthcoming move.
Like most such events on the Continent, there's a tournament involved - our noble representatives, John and Hannah, coped amazingly in their full wool kit despite the 28oC heat, and even managed to score points, even though all the instructions were in italian.
Into this vipers' nest in the 1360s rode thousands of English mercenaries, mostly former soldiers who found themselves out of work when France and England signed a truce that temporarily halted the Hundred Years' War. These swords for hire were bought time again by the highest bidder and were a major factor in numerous battles. The one commemorated at Morimondo had the English fighting on the side of the hated Viscontis (yes, the family name later gave us the term 'viscount'). And they lost. But our Company is invited back year after year to be part of the show, so in the long run, the English are the winners, really.
There is nothing, absolutely nothing, to beat a multiperiod, international event. Tewkesbury, Trakai,(Lithuania), Trelleborg, and that grandaddy of them all, Hastings, have given me some of my happiest re-enactment memories. Now I have Morimondo, made all the more poignant by our forthcoming move.
Like most such events on the Continent, there's a tournament involved - our noble representatives, John and Hannah, coped amazingly in their full wool kit despite the 28oC heat, and even managed to score points, even though all the instructions were in italian.
When the rest of us weren't cheering them on, we had time to check out the encampment (this is less than half of it), and the occasional bit of mooching (or recovering from the 1 euro glasses of wine, and 2 euro beers at the tavern the night before). And checking out the gelati at the local cafe. Morimondo only has about 500 residents, but the gelateria does a roaring trade in passers by. Including us.
Various clubs put on displays of their finest skills, from pottery and scraffito decoration to swordplay. For us, it was our bill line, for which the English alone are famous, but our favourite was probably the Genoese bowmen...
My personal domain was here - minding hearth and home and dreaming up new ways to cook the provisions which came down from the abbey twice a day (the pork shins were a challenge - try cooking up 31 of those babies, at half a kilo each, in time for lunch! Thank the gods for Danny the farmhand, who turned out to be a dab hand at butchery!). 
It was hot, smoky and smelly, and I was secretly glad when we'd scrubbed out our last pot. But mainly just so I could flirt with a certain tall blond handsome soldier.... 
Sunday, May 10, 2009
L'universite d'Oxford, c'est bon!
I've spent the last two days studying French at the University of Oxford. I'm exhausted, but jubilant. I've worked hard these last two days, putting myself in a class that was probably a touch above where I was when I started, but one where I could more or less keep up by the end. I've filled in the gaps in my grammar and tested my vocab and found it better than expected.
My new job considers 'a second UN language to at least intermediate level' a distinct advantage, and after this weekend, I'm confident that my French is indeed intermediate. I know it's dreadfully daggy to be so happy about studying, but I'm rather chuffed.
Now all I need is to get my mouth around some Italian...
My new job considers 'a second UN language to at least intermediate level' a distinct advantage, and after this weekend, I'm confident that my French is indeed intermediate. I know it's dreadfully daggy to be so happy about studying, but I'm rather chuffed.
Now all I need is to get my mouth around some Italian...
Monday, May 04, 2009
Spring break at Caerphilly
I confess I had something of a head on the next morning, but Lissy had a train to catch - she was going to check out Bath before meeting up with her ride to Caerphilly: we'd swung her a spot as an honorary member of the Company of Chivalry for the weekend.
This is my fourth event at Caerphilly, and it's starting to feel very much like home. Not so Lissy, who was like a kid in a lolly shop at this, her second British castle, and her first trip to Wales.
I hope I never completely lose that thrill, even when I've done a hundred or more shows here. We camp in the castle. We drive over the drawbridge, we go walking through mist at dawn when the old stones and broken towers are eery and beautiful.
And we cook up a storm: parsnip fritters, perfectly seasoned pottage, cabbage with onion and bacon, savoury rice, roast beef, honey saffron tarts and pears in red wine.
Lissy, a professional cook, was a legend on the chopping board, and Liz and Steph, who I've been working with all season to feed this brood of boys and girls, all got on famously. As nights fell we wrapped up warm, donned drinking hats and set to in earnest. 
All too soon the weekend was over, we were packing the car, and packing Liss off to her mate's place in Cardiff. I can't wait til next time we all catch up.
This is my fourth event at Caerphilly, and it's starting to feel very much like home. Not so Lissy, who was like a kid in a lolly shop at this, her second British castle, and her first trip to Wales.
I hope I never completely lose that thrill, even when I've done a hundred or more shows here. We camp in the castle. We drive over the drawbridge, we go walking through mist at dawn when the old stones and broken towers are eery and beautiful.
And we cook up a storm: parsnip fritters, perfectly seasoned pottage, cabbage with onion and bacon, savoury rice, roast beef, honey saffron tarts and pears in red wine.
Lissy, a professional cook, was a legend on the chopping board, and Liz and Steph, who I've been working with all season to feed this brood of boys and girls, all got on famously. As nights fell we wrapped up warm, donned drinking hats and set to in earnest. 
All too soon the weekend was over, we were packing the car, and packing Liss off to her mate's place in Cardiff. I can't wait til next time we all catch up.
Friday, May 01, 2009
May morning
Lissy emailed from Oslo earlier this week: 'we've got a long weekend this weekend. What are you up to and can I come over?'. Some hasty phone calls were made to check arrangements, and suddenly, she was winging her way over.'Oh, you're off to Oxford,' her English housemate pronounced, with a hint of envy.
'Nowhere in England does May Day quite like Oxford'.
I don't know if that's true, but it's a tradition everyone should experience at least once.
This year, I headed into town to see the Morris and musicians, arriving by 7am to find the party in full swing, seeking out familiar faces in the crowd before we headed up to the Victoria Arms in Old Marston for breakfast baps and pints, songs and tunes, and more friends' faces. 
Kim and I had been down at the Half Moon til nearly 2am the night before, but I had to keep my wits about me, Lissy wasn't arriving 'til Midday. Darren and Jim hadn't been to bed at all, and their lucidity was nothing short of mirculous. 
Not long before then, things wound down at the Viccy, and headed down to the Rose and Crown in South Parade, a place I'd often heard of and never seen. Lissy arrived just after a walking Jack in the Green, and was enthralled by the site. One of the things I love about travelling with this woman is that she retains a childlike wonder at the new and unfamiliar, fascinated by every detail. From pork rolls to the morrisman who chased me for tipping his hat off, we laughed and drank and chattered until we ached. 
Then we actually made it into the pub. Did I mention that it was a day of blinding sunshine? The Rose and Crown has a sizable beer garden and the place was packed.
We stood near the middle, and the sound of rising voices, in countless harmonies, soaring skyward, was rich enough to permeate skin and soul and made us both cry. We led songs, we carolled choruses, we sat in rapt silence as new verses began. We trooped off for all you can eat chinese at 7pm and caught the bus back to Witney, for one more cider before crawling into bed. We have an early start tomorrow.
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