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.

In the great scheme of things I have never been a prolific sportsman, despite my love of all sport, but i did enjoy one peculiar local sport in Oxford, and yesterday I took a stagger down memory lane to re-ignite my love of Aunt Sally. Every wednesday night in Oxfordshire, people gather at local pubs to play this strange game that involves 6 sticks being thrown at a small wooden doll perched on a swivel.

When I played there were 21 sections in Oxford but sadly there are now just 12, I never played at a very high level but always enjoyed the fun and beer of a good night out. My beery travels yesterday took me to The Folly Bridge Inn, next door to the former White House ground of Oxford City. Luckily the kind landlord and a few good friends helped me to have a quick chuck. I got 3 dolls with my first throw, blimey i wasn’t that good when I played on a regular basis.

The local paper The Oxford Mail does a round up every wednesday of the previous weeks action and prints a list of Sixers (anyone who hits all 6 dolls in one leg) and blobbers those who miss everything all night over the 3 legs, and yes I have been named and shamed in the blobbers section. It felt so good to throw those sticks again, it all came flooding back, when I started I was a danger to low flying aircraft but aspired to a half decent level. Ooh memories, maybe I can export Aunt Sally to Tenerife – well it’s just a thought.

….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.

The good people of Tenerife had a whip round and sent me back to England for a 10 day break to give them some respite, so here I am in Bolton with the lovely Pam, for a whirlwind tour of England.

Where to start, well Chester sounded as good as anywhere, and just an hours drive away. My knowledge only runs to vague ideas about a racecourse and Chester City, recently relegated back to the Conference, and managed by Mark Wright, former Liverpool and England defender and ex Oxford United manager.The boy from Berinsfield, just outside Oxford, also scored the winning goal at the England v Egypt World Cup finals game I attended in Sardinia in 1990.

First impresion weaving through the tight cobbled streets, was the staggering amount of pubs, I notice the important things, The remains of the city walls from the Romans visit 2,000 year ago led past the cathedral (see pic below) and surrounding gardens where people were sprawled out on the lawns in the sunshine, personally I felt the keen wind chilling me and was glad of my jumper and coat. In the centre of town, the Eastgate clock, built 1897, Â sits atop an arch over the main shopping street, a photo opportunity to good to miss. There was an interesting antigue shop on the arch, among the more traditional paintings of local scenes, there were some with Daleks and Cybermen added in, and there was me thinking that Dr Who was fiction.

If we were going to be tourists, we thought we might as well go the whole way, so we signed upfor a 90 minute walking tour (a fiver each) from the information centre. There were just 5 of us and our guide, Gerry, sounded just like Ken and Kenneth, the gentlemans tailors from The Fast Show. As for the tour, ooh suits us, it took us out to the edge of the city centre, past the oldest racecourse in the UK, the only one where they race anti clockwise. Apparently the footie ground is nearby and the dividing line between England and Wales cuts through it. Down to the River Dee and the area known as The Groves, ducks and herons perched on the weir and pleasure boats mingled with swans as we trudged by. History oozes out of every brick and we visited the old castle and Agricola Tower, before ending at the impressive St Johns Church, built in 689.

One day down, and I didn’t need the thermals, the forecast is not encouraging but bring it on, I feel some more wanderings coming on, hmmm wonder if Pam would fancy a trip to the National Football Museum in Preston?

It was so nice to see Los Gigantes and Puerto Santiago brimming with tourists, both have been eerily quiet on my previous visits. Semana Santa (Easter week) is not only a big religious time, but also a big family holiday when Spanish flock from the mainland to Tenerife, encouraged lately by cut price hotel deals. On the 473 bus journey from Los Cristianos, I noticed large numbers of camper vans parked up in Playa Paraiso and on Punta Blanca between Alcala and Playa de la Arena. Camping on the beaches is illegal, and although the police have cut it down in recent years, they will never stop it all.

Back in Los Gigantes, the afternoon sun punched its way through the clouds, luring a few more onto the small dark beach and bars and restaurants were doing a steady trade. I poked my nose in at La Laquillo, the large outdoor swimming pool complex, that became a regular haunt of mine during my 4 years living up in Puerto Santiago, and based at The Western Sun newspaper office just behind the church plaza.

With the pocket sized beach easily filled, La Laquillo is a popular alternative at 4.50 euros a day (adult) including a sunbed. They also have a nice restaurant and life guards on duty, so it’s a good choice for families. On the down side, I recall the water always being cold, but that was offset for me by the lovely young Canarian lady with stunning thighs, who usually let me in free to swim my laps.

Leaving “The Village” as Los Gigantes is known (always makes me think of The Prisoner) I decided to forsake cardiac hill, and take the scenic route via Crab Island. This is a lovely settlement that hugs the coast and features the rock pool, a popular venue for late night skinny dipping. The wonderful setting also encourages tourists to sit on the edge and pose for photos, even when the sea is alarmingly rough. It was calm for my visit, but I always think of my first front page story for The Western Sun, when a man was swept out of the pool by a freak wave and with the help of a heroic holiday maker, was lifted out by helicopter.

 Moving on up, I passed quite a line of people coming down from the viewing terrace above the rocks, the outlook was beautiful as always, although the waft of sewage from the nearby pipeline still tweaks the nostrils. Left with just half a hill to climb, I stopped off in Puerto Santiago to re-aquaint myself with one of my favourite bars before taking the main road above the sea. The even smaller Santiago beach had its fair share of visitors, but the sea air spurred me on and down through the tight hairpin corner, so expertly manouvered by coach and bus drivers, to the plaza. Well I couldn’t hop on my bus without having a meal at the excellent Plaza Restaurante. It was nice to see the same friendly staff there (they used to reserve me pole position in front of the TV for CD Tenerife away games) and the old men still engrossed in their endless games of chess. With a belly full of tuna, the hour long bus trip back to the south soon snoozed by.

Walking through a giant human colon, surrounded by statistics of untimely death. No,it’s not the new single from Morrisey, just part of another interesting trip to Santa Cruz, the always surprising capital of Tenerife.

More of those bodily functions later, but top of my agenda today,was the new exhibition of Still Life paintings from the Prado museum in Madrid.  The touring exhibition, El Bodegon Español en El Prado, is at the Espacio Cultural Caja Canarias (upstairs from the large Caja Canarias bank at Plaza de Patriotismo, just up and to the right of Plaza de España) and will stay until 31 May.

The FREE exhibition opens from 11 am to 1 pm and 5 pm to 9 pm Monday to Friday, and 11am to 2 pm and 5 pm to 8 pm on Saturdays. It was my first foray into the display area, bright, modern and spacious, it’s a good setting for the frequent culture shows that they put on. In this case, there are 60 offerings from leading Spanish painters of the 17th to 19th century. The Goya work, above, is Perros En Trailla y Utiles De Caza, from 1775.

Most of the paintings feature animals, and food, and are so rich and evocative of their subjects, thay made me quite hungry. This one above is Dolces y Frutos Secos Sobre Una Mesa, by Tomas Hiepes. In case you are wondering, these are not photos taken by me, the very serious looking security guards looked ready to swat me like an annoying fly when I asked if I could take photos, even without a flash.

Judging by the well thumbed and gratefully signed visitors book that has followed the paintings on their city by city tour, I was not the only one to be impressed by the work on offer. If you want a colourful souvenir, they are selling a 200 page glossy catalogue for 20 euros.

Leaving the building, I was intrigued by a bright orange concertina tube at the entrance to the Plaza de Principe de Asturias park. Silly me, it was a colon of course, the young ladies in attendance thrust some leaflets in my hand and propelled me towards the colon mouth. I soon discovered that it was a graphic way to alert people to the dangers of cancer of the colon. Here’s a couple of shocking facts for you, the Spanish death rate from colon cancer is 6 times that from AIDS and 3 times that from road deaths. Despite being the most common form of cancer, it has a 90 % cure rate if caught early. The display is only there for a few more days, so do yourself a favour and have a quick look at the website for the alliance to prevent colon cancer.

Not a bad old place Santa Cruz, culture and health education, all within one small area of the city. I look forward to more revelations on my next trip.

It seemed quite appropriate that as the mourners fell to the floor wailing and rolling around showing off their underwear, they were just outside the Sex Boutique in Avenida Suecia, Los Cristianos. A closer look revealed that these “ladies” were in fact young men, keeping alive the tradition of leading the giant sardine through the streets to its cremation on the beach.

Just a quick history lesson, the funeral of the sardine refers to Lent, and the hypocrisy of the church, telling the masses to go without meat, while the church big wigs ate more or less what they wanted, leaving the others to make do with sardines, the plentiful local bounty of the sea. As a show of 2 fingers goes, this is one of the highlights of the Carnaval calendar, it seemed a little down on mourners this year but what it lacked in numbers, it made up for in dedication and dress sense. The parade was shadowed by a large contingent of police, to ensure that high spirits don’t get out of hand, I wonder what their instructions are? look out for any strange characters or anyone acting suspiciously? That just about covers most people present.

I can’t help feeling that the parade lost something when they switched from carrying the sardine shoulder high, to driving it along mounted on a decorated float, but to be fair, the old way took longer each year to make the short journey, and after hours of pushing through jostling bodies, the sardine usually arrived at the beach partly damaged.

Anyway, this years journey was pretty swift and well oiled, and a large enclosure had been set up on the old beach ready for the fish’s final moments. A few well placed burning torches and the fish did a passable impression of a dog, woof it went up in a blaze if fire. As the tongues of flame licked at the night sky, a barrage of fireworks was released, a fitting send off to our fishy friend.

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Check your calender, it isn’t April Fools Day, so we can only hope that Ryanair are yanking our chain. Not content with introducing a system that allows mobile phones to operate once the plane is flying, they have now hinted that they might start charging one pound to  use the toliet in flight.

This big news splash happened this morning on BBC TV when Chief Executive Michael O’ Leary squeezed out this quote. “One thing we have looked at in the past, and are looking at again, is the possibility of maybe putting a coin slot on the toilet door, so that people may have to spend a pound to spend a penny in future.” Leaving the interviewer looking flushed, Michael went on to justify it saying “I don’t think there is anybody in history that has got on board a Ryanair aircraft with less than a pound.”

What planet does this man live on, he must know that airports do their best to pour booze down your neck during long waits, and then push more on you once aboard, at sky high prices. Of course we are all desperate for a pee by the time the seat belt fastened sign pings off.

Charging a pound seems to be clearly targeting the Brits, but what if you have already changed all your money to the main European currency. It all takes on a different meaning and I assume it then becomes known as Euro-nating.

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