There was no doubt about it, his woman had done him wrong, life was cruel and he didn’t get no respect. So much for the tortured soul, belting out the crackly vinyl blues on a modern sound system at Casa Elias in downtown El Sauzal. As for me, I was feeling pretty chipper, a plate of tapas in front of me, a cold drink, and the church of San Pedro Apostel in my line of vision. It was clear looking at the drum and guitar on the wall of the main bar, that this was a music venue, posters proclaimed August as a month of “Musica y Mojitos” and even the lizards on the garden wall looked pretty mellow.

It was all well worth the early start for an 8.30am, 110 Titsa from Los Cristianos to Santa Cruz, 1.45 euros on the Bono, prompting a free 30 minute tram ride to the La Laguna terminus. A brief walk through town to the bus station brought its reward with an unexpected floor show. An o51 bus reversed out of its berth and bashed into a stationary 230, the aggreived driver got out, and casually ripped off a hanging length of rubber and drove off to do his run. The reverser was going to leave the scene too, but a young waiting passenger let rip with a tirade of verbal and hand signal abuse, ready to add to his bad morning, the driver leapt out of the cab and squared up to Mr Angry, but before fists could fly, other drivers split the pair and the driver chugged away. All this was played out in a surprisingly casual manner, no reprimands or mountain of paper work seemed to be heading the way of either of the drivers, even though it was like Robot Wars meets On The Buses – and all before 11am.

I was still smirking as my o12 Titsa took the one euro, 30 minute journey to El Sauzal, even the twin delights of Guamasa’s Dolce Vita Swingers Club and Piss Pass cafe had to settle for second best on my chuckleometer. Getting off in the Casco El Sauzal, the old part of town, I was immediately impressed, you can tell a lot by the look of a place, and this was bright,clean, well kept and with plenty of signs and tourist information. The ayuntamiento (council) buidling held centre stage, a pretty standard design of white building with traditional Canarian wooden balconies, it stood on several terraces of plants and flowers with a small waterfall and a cascade of concrete steps down to a pavement cafe. The nearby church of San Pedro Apostel was also well worth a walk round, built in 1515 and used by the Tenerife cabildo (government) when La Laguna was devestated by the plague.

The views out over the valley and to the sea were wonderful, but the best was yet to come. a short walk along the main road brought me to the Parque de los Lavaderos, 8,000 square metres of natures finest, based around a natural water source where locals gathered to do their washing. The trees and shrubs were pretty impressive from the entrance, but once I followed the stone path down through the layers of the park, I realised what a wonderland this is. Water channels still burble through the bushes, but small turret like buildings have been added and seats and mini plazas appear in shady rest spots. The council have struck a fine balance between maintaining the park, and allowing nature some free expression, the water channels are lined with moss and weeds, a perfect habitat for tadpoles, fish and red and blue dragon flies. Lizards lurk in the undergrowth and the flowers blooms add a spread of glorious colour, complemented by the views out to sea, and along the coast to Puerto de la Cruz.

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The water that passes through the park is later pumped uphill to irrigate and nurture parks and public gardens at the top end of El Sauzal. As I puffed up the steep road on the 20 minute walk to the Casa del Vino wine museum, I could appreciate how much effort was needed to recycle this fresh water. The music from Casa Elias was still fresh in my brain, I couldn’t help thinking that someone should compose some modern blues based on the mornings events in La Laguna. “Woke up this morning, crashed my bus and had a fight, yeh i woke up this morning, crashed my bus and had a fight, guess I had the Titsa blues, and after that my day got real sh….shoddy”

Next time you have a meal out in Tenerife, make a point of ordering a local wine, it’s another part of the rich heritage of the island, even William Shakespeare was found of a drop of Malvasia wine. The north of Tenerife is the stronghold of the wine growing industry, so it is fitting that Casa del Vino lies in El Sauzal, a few miles from Puerto de la Cruz, and near Tacaronte, famous in its own right for fine grapes.

It was around 5 years ago that I last visited the combined museum, exhibition halls, tasting rooms, and administrative centre for Tenerife’s wine output, and it is still a FREE attraction with much to recomend it. Perched on the lip of a steep hill, views on a clear day are stunning, of the valley below, and Mount Teide above, this afternoon the cloud had descended, well I had made good use of the sun earlier in the day in El Sauzal town below, more of that in the other post. The Casa is an old 17th century farm house, built around a large courtyard, with an old wooden wine press making a natural centre piece.

The museum tells the story of the growth of wine in Tenerife, and its journey out into the wider world, it now has a formidable reputation. For much of the north of the island, the wine trade provided jobs and security, in recent years its value has been recognised and quality control and regional brand names have made sure it takes its fair share of prizes at prestigious tasting events. Talking of tasting, for a small charge, you can taste a few wines and get a few pointers on what to look for, I had brought along a pint glass, but they were not having that, so I had a few gentle sips and tried to look knowledgeable. Regular courses are run through the year for those who want to educate their palate, homework will no doubt be keenly undertaken.

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Attached to the main building is the newer Casa de la Miel (House of Honey) charting the rise of this sweet product,not widely recognised as a Tenerife speciality. I went to a place called House of Honey in Amsterdam many years ago-but it was quite different to this. The varied flowers and fauna help to influence the taste of Tenerife honey, there are nearly 500 producers in Tenerife these days. Most regional craft fairs will have some honey on offer, but the main Casa del Vino store has a good range, and of course plenty of wine to sample at home.

Summer evenings feature classical concerts in the courtyard of Casa del Vino, in the shadow of the wine press, and the exhibition hall has a changing display of art from local artists. If you want to relax and have a meal, the restaurant has a terrace overlooking the valley, and specialises in traditional local dishes using local ingredients, all washed down with the best the cellar can offer. Casa del Vino is open Tuesday to Sunday (closed mondays) from 11.30 to 7.30 Tuesdays, Wednesday to Sunday 10.00 to 9.30, and holidays 11.30 to 5.30. For details of courses, concerts and general background, check the website. Cheers

The spirit of Arkwright lives on, I’m not sure if they are Open All Hours, but the Bar La Estrella in Calle Grande, Adeje with its combined bar and newsagents brought to mind that old cccccc cantankerous shop keeper made famous by Ronnie Barker. The shop and bar look seperate neighbours from outside, but one bar/counter unites them inside seperating my morning coffee from a selection of sensible hats, tacky souvenirs, magazines and papers. Smack in the middle, squatting on 2 low chairs, Mr and Mrs A were glued to a re run of last nights Real Madrid friendly and I seemed to be an unwanted distraction.

 Never mind, onward and upward, literally, as the shady tree lined Calle Grande meanders uphill to the Ayuntamiento (council) building (pic) and the old church plaza. It must be about 8 months since my last visit, when notices warned of impending work to the crumbling old walls surrounding the square. It seems that the work is more intense than I expected, high fences now seal off much of the plaza as a huge crane lurks behind. The large works billboard has a familiar look, and shows the logo for Plan E, a Spanish national initiative for urban renewal  with the commendable logic that it’ s better to pay the unemployed to do small overlooked  building projects, and give them some pride and purpose.

Turning the top corner towards Casa Fuerte, the old run down castle, I noticed lots of building, large and small going on in the newer part of Adeje, and a notice warning that the popular walk, Barranco del Invierno is closed. The Barranco is undergoing a month (Canarian timescale) long revamp costing 361,861 euros, improving the path and cutting back intrusive plant growth. Being a nosey git, I had a good look round the side and behind the Casa Fuerte, guarded as ever by the old canon. I don’t think there are plans to repair it anytime soon, but even in its rundown state, it has a strong prescence, a reminder of more vulnerable days when many people coveted Tenerife. It’s quite a border line for 2 eras, on one side, the new town growing at a quite frightening rate, and on the other, the terraced landscape dropping away to the Atlantic with the island of La Gomera beyond, emerging through a fluffy wrapping of cloud.

Coming back down into old Adeje, there is a nice mix of old and new low level housing, a large popular plaza with childrens play area, and some smashing coffee and cake shops, which I felt duty bound to visit. Los Olivos has been blighted with the worst aspect of this area, a new stark concrete church, sealed off with its own small plain plaza, it would give Prince Charles sleepless nights, not so much designed but line drawn on an Etch a Sketch by a cubist. Luckily that was my exit point for the bus to La Caleta.

Eerily quiet and sock soakingly hot, that’s how I found Vilaflor today, of course I must add one more key word – beautiful. I was gob smacked to realise, it was nearly 6 years ago that I last visited this old spa town, a brief pass through then after wrestling with Paisaje Lunar, my first big Tenerife mountain walk. Even if the locals had got wind that I was making a return trip, and taking into account the current near 40 degree heat, it seemed very quiet, not even many tourists in this popular walking area.

What an easy place to visit, just 45 minutes from Los Cristianos and 1.65 euros on my Bono Titsa bus ticket, and the 482 had transported me up to the 1,400 metre high town, nestling among the army of pine trees that marches up into the horizon. I was a bit concerned that the bus whizzed past the town and skyward, but dropping me off just beyond the boundary, left an easier walk down a side road into town. A breeze ran across me,but it couldn’t hide the searing heat, the tall pines are not only proud and imposing, they also catch any small flecks of moisture in the air, not today of course, and drain them down into the soil, that combined with the spa, has made Vilaflor an important centre for agriculture.

A few yards down the road, I found the Chorillo, an old outdoor public washing area, the plaque said restoration work started in 2005, but I can’t say it looked too advanced, apart from a newish roof, and there was no water – perhaps that would put too much pressure on the constant upkeep. A little further along, large trucks were loading up with bottled water from the Fuente Alta factory – oh to have shares in them at scorching times like this.

One man casts a giant shadow over Vilaflor, Hermano Pedro, the Canary Islands only saint, born in 1626, he lived for a while in a cave near El Medano, before taking his healing mission to Guatemala, where he died in 1667, and was canonised by the Pope in 2002. The Iglesia de San Pedro Apostle, is a fine centrepiece to the town, but his prescence is everywhere, at the far end of town, a large statue greets visitors and many houses are crowned with a colourful tile depicting part of his life, there are many different ones to spot.

The main street was surprisingly quiet, many shops and cafes were closed, and few took advantage of the shady roadside benches. Sadly many locals now have to work out of town in the day, but that is the story in many of the more remote places I visit, but they still have a sedate daytime shuffle. Popping down some side streets, I noticed many old houses were abandoned, the library was marked “permantly closed” and the Los Girasoles rural hotel was closed and for sale. At least nature still has a busy schedule, the orange trees were sprouting their fruits, cacti were turning into a contradiction of sharp needles and gorgeous colurful blooms, and the first barman who served me went on to decanter a huge flagon of local wine into bottles for more refined quaffing.

By now I was glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife (hmm could make a good rock lyric) and glad to duck into the bus shelter to wait for the 474 down to La Escalona. punching a measley 95 cents fare on my bono ticket, I made the 15 minute hop downhill to turn this into a 2 centre day out. Getting off I got chatting to a German couple, that had been on my morning bus, seems I am not the only one doing the Titsa tango around the island, nice to see tourists realising the quality of service given by Tenerife buses.

La Escalona was also subdued, but having just come off a fiesta weekend, it’s hardly surprising. A nice little modern village, I could see that many houses had been recently renovated. I had a wander, and popped into the Restaurant La Barrica for a much needed cold drink, what a lovely friendly place, a plate of bread with a hot salsa sauce, arrived with my drink, just wish I had time to stay for a full meal.There is just one southern Titsa bus a day up to Mount Teide, and it was due through within the half hour, so I forced another cold coke (not what you were thinking) down at the La Curva bar opposite the bus stop and the plaza with its distinctive church tower. I had noticed a few dragon flys in Vilaflor, but there seemed to be loads here, one settled on the outside terrace floor as I sipped and I managed to get a quick shot. I knew an email to Steve Andrews, the Bard Of Ely, on my return would produce a name for the little critter-a Scarlet Darter.

The 342 bus from Teide was spot on with my estimation and within 30 minutes, and just 80 cents down on my Bono, I was back in Los Cristianos, and my German friends were off home with tales to tell of Tenerife transport efficiency, and the natural beauty to be found in the mountains of this special island.

Don’t slurp that cuppa! I don’t think it’s a criminal offence in Tenerife, but with a police helicopter hovering low over me, I wasn’t about to take a chance. To be fair, I think they were less interested in my early morning coffee drinking in Santa Cruz, than scanning the area ahead of the visit of Spains King and Queen to nearby La Laguna. It killed a little time though as I waited for the 246 Titsa bus to Almaciga, on the remote north coast.

The 95 cents bono ticket fare was incredible value for the hours trip up into the mountains high above San Andres and Las Teresitas beach – you wont find a better white knuckle ride. The tight winding road was seperated from a sheer drop by a series of concrete blocks that looked worryingly like tombstones. The terraced hill sides and plant life looked very green and lush, despite heat and roque fire warnings in the Anaga national park. Beeping the horn loudly as each sharp bend loomed up seemed to clear the way, but coming down into Taganana near the end of the journey, an ice cream truck and the bus clipped wing mirrors. Blimey that was too close, what a way to go, death by raspberry ripple.

Finally the folds of mountains parted and I could see the coast, rugged and undeveloped, it looked stunning with outcrops of rock spat out into the sea. The bus stopped at an old battered bus shelter up a hill and that was it-Almaciga-end of the line, so I got out and followed the sign down to the beach.  I found myself walking along peoples garden paths, well it seemed like that, but the street signs showed that they were public routes past basic but well kept small houses, dripping in flowers. A steep descent brought me down to Playa de Benijo, where surfers and swimmers challenged some medium rollers. Camper vans and large cars were parked up and sprouting picnics, there were no shops, just a few old dwellings and a closed little kiosk with an overgrown garden.

I walked along and up the pavement less road to get a better look at the imposing Roque Benijo, before heading back to consider my dilema. To get to the next beach, I could folow the main coast road, clinging to the side and hoping to avoid the odd traffic rounding the bends, or head back up the steep climb the way I came. Having seen a few small bars in Almaciga village, I puffed back up the track, with the incentive of at least being able to grab a cold drink and snack. These small bars, looked like peoples garages but were none the less welcome, the locals all seemed to be beavering away on the roofs mending and improving in the hot sun while skinny cats lazed in the shadows. A small down track linked me back to the coast road, but I only had a small stretch to play chicken on, before reaching Roque de las Bodegas.

This seemed a bit busier and had several nice bar restaurants facing the sea, I picked Los Roques de Anaga to enjoy the fruit of the ocean. I couldn’t work out if the fish of the day was carrying the waiter, or the other way around, it attracted a loyal following of cats to my table, but the fish could have devoured a dozen of them and still had room for the canarian potatoes. Suitably fed, I turned my attention to the large sea bound rock that the village was named after. It looked stranded but a few yards round, I found it had a walkway carved out of one side, making it a busy base for anglers and swimmers. Even on a calm day, the sea was quickly eating away at the small pebble beach, and starting to lap at the wall by the roadside. Another cold drink and my return bus pulled up on cue, still fairly empty, it had gained a few young surfers to share the helter skelter trip back to Santa Cruz.Â

Lately the north has been out stripping the south for temperatures, the heat of high afternoon Santa Cruz, greeted me like a hair dryer when I got off near Plaza de España. As I called at a few of my usual information stops around Calle Castillo, I noticed a digital readout showing 37 degrees-and it really felt it. I checked out the weekends celebrations for the anniverasry of Nelsons 1797 defeat, much more low key than last year, they run from 7.30 pm on Friday 24 and Saturday 25 July, around Plaza Weyler and Plaza de España. With fortunate timing, I arrived at the bus station to step straight onto a direct 110 Titsa to Los Cristianos, an air conditioned hour for a repeat of my 4.45 euro Bono ticket fare up many hours earlier.

Fuelled by a British promotors pledge to stage speedway in San Miguel, the ancient south east Tenerife town roared to the top of my “must explore soon” list. I had brushed the fringes a few years ago on the Camino de la Hoya walk but now felt the urge to do it justice. A 416 Titsa bus to Granadilla, whisked me up through pretty Arona towns, La Camela and Valle San Lorenzo before dropping me at the edge of San Miguel 30 minutes later, at a cost of 1.25 euros on my Bono ticket.

A mirador (view point) greeted me, and a sculpture of a fiqure indulging in Salto de Pastor (above) , paid tribute to the ancient way that farmers would vault across ravines to get around. A stroll down the main road through town, Carretera General del Sur, showed me a neat busy town with plenty of new sports and exhibition halls. I can’t seem to escape my Oxford past, posters advertised a council sponsored 4 day trip for local youth, to London, including a day trip to Oxford – all for 625 euros. They best take plenty of spending money, it will come as a shock to them, I sampled a few local cafes, and coffee and cakes were even cheaper than Los Cristianos prices.

The church is always a good place to start, I followed the sign off the main road and the square towered 17th century church of Arcangel, smiled brightly at me, framned by two leafy green trees. I wandered around the attached plaza, but the church was closed, and admired the distinctive building. Sadly some planning oaf has allowed a large communication mast to be put up near by, it looks bloody awful and when you look up to see the church tower from around the town, its intrusive shadow ruins the view.

Cutting through the back roads, I found the El Aljibe exhibition hall. This former reservoir is partly hewn out of the rock and was opened in 2004. The two tier display area (FREE entry) is currently home to acrylic paintings by Susana Gomez. It’s a great setting and well worth popping in from 10 am to 2 pm or 5 pm to 7.30 pm, Monday to Friday.

Stopping off for a cool drink and a snack at the Vera de la Cruz  bar in Carretera los Abrigos, the bamboo decor and cart wheels on the ceiling were very soothing, and set my mind thinking about the speedway connection. I was a keen Oxford Cheetahs fan for many seasons alas they are defunct, at least for now. Mike Bowden, chairman of Plymouth Devils, claims to have land and planning consent to start speedway in San Miguel, possibly within a year. There is already a popular moto cross circuit nearby, but in Tenerife there is always a huge chasm between planning and realization – but I would love to smell the fuel and the shale again.

Onward, to the Casa de la Capitan, a museum made out of a wealthy land owners house. The two storey building is wrapped around a central courtyard, complete with sculpture (below) and has a granary and wine press, after a fire in 1978 it was partly rebuilt. There is a strong theme of the agricultural past of the area, with tools and photos on display, as well as a small but informative library of local history. This is another FREE attraction and opens from 8am to 2 pm Monday to Friday.

I was planning to pop down to Las Galletas on the way home but waited at the far end of town, only to find that the 484 Titsa turns off early at Carretera los Abrigos. Never mind, the 416 back to Los Cristianos comes along every 40 minutes. Travelling back past the craggy Roque de Jama, I could feel the urge to do some more walks in this direction, that things to do list certainly doesn’t get any shorter.

In our minds we were 3 young dynamic explorers, striding out over Montaña Guaza, 428 metres above Los Cristianos, but to others we probably looked like we were making the Tenerife version of Last Of The Summer Wine. Myself (The Lemming), Chris (The General) and Gordon (The Moron) set off from the eastern edge of Los Cristianos at 10am armed with knapsacks, water, sturdy trainers, and our wits – oh dear. Montaña Guaza rises up above Playa de Callao and climbs steadily as it winds it’s way inland, reaching it’s peak overhanging my complex.

 Although not that high, Guaza can be a tricky little devil, I have done it twice before, but not for 2 years. Taking the tight twisting pathway from ground level, we soon started to feel the pull on our muscles, and the power of the near 30 degree sun, but already Los Cristianos was falling away below us, revealing a new outlook on the port, beaches and the Atlantic beyond. Once up on a more level plateau, we could see the terracing and stone walls dating back to early farming on the mountain, old concrete channels showed where irrigation helped the crops to grow in the heat.

This route is normally very popular, but we only saw one other person all walk, that was an elderley man who worryingly easily skipped past us and soon became a blob in the distance. There are several rough tracks, used in the past for transport, but we knew we wanted to head upward to the peak, where the aerials and antenna mingle to ensure mobiles get good signals and the Brits get their regular doses of Corrie and Eastenders.

Looking out along the coast, we could make out Palm Mar and the candy striped lighthouse of Rasca, made from stone quarried on the mountain. Across the Atlantic we could also see the churning white wakes of the ferries as they headed over to the nearby islands of La Gomera and La Palma, they seemed like toy boats from up on high, though I doubt they would fit in my bath. A few birds wheeled overhead, too fast to tell if they were Chiff Chaffs, Collared Doves, or Trumpeter Finches, all native to this mountain.

In need of shade and a rest, we pushed ourselves up the steep climb to the small compound at the peak, where a workman was fine tuning the aerials and antenna. We briefly admired the views over Guaza and up the motorway to Las Chafiras and the airport, on the way to Santa Cruz. Montaña Roja, the sturdy red mountain that greets arrivals at the airport, stood proud in the near distance, and a faint haze hung in the air. A quick sandwich break soon attracted a small army of playful lizards that scurried over the stones to fight for the biggest crumbs from our sandwiches.

Suitably refreshed, we headed down and back the way we came, it seemed quicker but we did manage to take a wrong turn and have to amend our ways in mid flow. You can’t go too far wrong in Tenerife, and with the sea stretching out below, we knew which way to head and were soon back on track. The steep path near the bottom took on new challenges as we went down,shifting sand and stone kept our minds agile – well as agile as they will ever be. After just over 3 and a half hours, we were safely back at ground level, all hot and sweaty, but pleased with ourselves and ready for a cold drink. No doubt the leg muscles will let us know later how they enjoyed the work out, but for now, I have my eyes on the next route march.

Maybe my hearing is going but I’m sure I didn’t hear “go and see the inspirational carpets in La Orotava”. So there I am this morning looking forward to a concert from the 1980’s Manchester rock band The Inspiral Carpets, but they were no where to be seen or heard. It was of course the big day of the Corpus Christi celebrations, the huge volcanic sand carpet was already in place in front of the Ayuntamiento (council) building (above) and work was frantically underway on the 35 individual floral carpets in the streets.

I started out with the 343 Titsa bus from Los Cristianos to Puerto de la Cruz at 9.20 am, just 75 minutes and 7.25 euros with my bono ticket. Changing to a 101 bus to Santa Cruz (cost .95 cents but FREE as my bono was still warm) it took just 15 minutes to pull into the bus station at La Orotava. It can be a little cloudy and chilly this far and high north, but the sun was beaming and the crowds were streaming, and once I had passed Mickey Mouse and Bob Square Pants bobbing on strings from the tacky stalls in town, I was soon heading up the Carrera del Escultor Estevez to be greeted by the throng around the impressive Plaza del Ayuntamiento.

The roads around here are tight,so people were funnelled either up to the Ayuntamiento building, and inside to climb for a balcony view, or onward up the narrow hilly pavements past the roads full of developing mosaics. These smaller carpets were started early morning and are carefully built up from a sand, grass and shredded pine base, to support spectacular toppings of flower petals, all layered with love and dedication.

This amazing art form started in 1847, and although it takes place in several towns around Tenerife, no one does it with as much style , or on such a grand scale as La Orotava. It’s a wonder there are any flowers left on the island that are not naked of their crowning glory. Buckets and baskets of multi coloured petals sit alongside bags of coloured sand awaiting their addition to the jigsaw. Families get involved with children playing their small part and the men creating great art with a can of beer in one hand.

Rough drawings are made first, and they have frames to work to for the main body of the carpets, but the intricate and most creative work is done by hand. Some of the streets wind down and around the Church of La Concepcion, as fine a piece of Baroque art as you could find. I had bumped into Jack and Andrea Montgomery, producers of the excellent guide books, Real Tenerife Island Drives and Going Native In Tenerife and we tried to get up the tower of the church for some photos. Alas the young chaps guarding the door seemed to think it was a private club for their friends, and although their were youngsters in flip flops going up, we were told it was dangerous underfoot due to yesterdays rain.

It really is a wonderous site to see the mosaics take shape during the day. As well as the colours, the smells are amazing, I havent smelt as much grass since the last match at CD Tenerife. Life is about constant change and despite all the effort put in, the carpets will be worn and trampled away as the big procession snakes through town this evening. It may seem a waste, but to the people who make it all possible, it’s an annual display of their faith and they are proud to see it come and go, and will be back to make it even bigger next year.

….is what I was thinking as the bearded acordian player burst into the Lamb and Flag pub in downtown Oxford. He was closely followed by 5 young ladies who started dancing, well more like pumelling the bare floor boards as their leader pulled and teased his organ. The bible is wrong, there are 8 deadly sins, the 8th being Morris Dancing, and this display was dangerously close.

I just wanted a quiet pint or 10 around Oxford, after taking my parents to sunday lunch at The Mitre, I was sat at the bar in a melancoly moment, enjoying my beer and reflecting on CD Tenerife’s shock 3-1 defeat at Hercules, I didn’t want entertaining. As the music finished the players waited for applause, but the silence was deafening, not that it put them off, they moved into the other bar and started annoying a few people in there.

Apart from that, it was a pleasant welcome back to Oxford, even the pounding rain and dodgy Oxon (above) at the station, failed to dampen my enthusiasm. Many pubs have changed here lately so I set out with a zeal to revisit many of my old haunts. The Head of the River (pic below) was always a busy and popular pub but the whole upstairs is now a hotel, never mind, at least the eastern european bar maids were very pleasing on the eye.

There were a few other minor highlights on my crawl, but it all got a bit hazy towards the end of the evening, and tonight I’m meeting some old drinking mates – it’s a living hell, but i will do my best to look like i’m enjoying myself.

On my first day back in England, the sun had got his hat on, but since then it has added a duffle coat, balaclava, scarf and brolly-typical spring weather for blighty. Time to get down with nature, and a trip out to Formby Point to the National Trust reserve near the beach, famous for its hoards of red squirrels, sadly a notice advised that there was little chance of seeing any as they have been decimated by squirrel pox – so that’s what happened to Tufty. On to the beach and a few brave souls were flying kites in the face of a freezing wind off the sea, time for a strategic retreat.

Onward to Southport, here after known as the last resort, we resisited the lure of the lawnmower museum, I kid you not, and strolled through town in the rain, trying to find something of interest. The information centre made much of them having the longest iron pier in the UK, I should imagine that suicide is the most popular past time in Southport.

Thursday was a leisurely day in Manchester, trying to keep warm. Last time I was over the vote on a congestion charge for the city centre was due, the council argued that a NO vote would mean no money to improve the local transport system. NO was the loud and resounding response, and yesterday, despite the threats, a quarter billion pound government investment for the Metro and Park and Ride was announced. The Metro is a great system, we travelled in to Manchester centre from Bolton, they even have upright cycle lockers at the car park so cyclists can link easily to the centre.

It was good to catch up on Manchester’s Peregrine Falcons, last year we saw a pair on the high ledge of a nearby hotel, through a telescope viewing point provided by the RSPB in Exchange Square. The birds are back again this year and have hatched another 4 chicks, thanks to the RSPB it is possible to see pics of them on the nest and also hunting for food. The falcons eat local pigeons, and the male can be seen on its favourite resting place, on top of the letter E in the name of the Arndale Centre.

So much for our trek to Formby, might as well let the wild life come to us. Talking of treks, me and Pam are off to see the new Star Trek film tonight, years since I have been to a cinema, hope they still do Kio Ora and Poppets, if not I’m sure a decent real ale afterwards at the local pub will be suitable compensation.