Last week I visited La Colombe D’or, a beautiful little Hotel in the hilltop fortress town of St Paul de Vence, half an hour north of Nice on the Cote D’Azur. Lucky old me.
It’s a unique place; quaint, gorgeous and special with history in every nook and cranny. Outside, fat-boughed fig-trees shade the worn stone floors and tall, clipped Cyprus stand guard by the pool. Inside hang paintings by an army of famous French artists and sculptors: Picasso (he paid for his stay with two pictures) Leger, Chagall, Matisse and many others. It’s artisan chic.
It’s also a paradox; poor furniture, small, basic rooms (although comfortable) and a menu that has remained unchanged since the year dot would send most Hotels to the bottom of the league. But Colombe D’or (that’s Golden Dove not Golden Column, stupid) is a haunt for celebs (Kate Moss and Roger Moor are regulars) and the adman community who have built its reputation over many, many decades and probably will for many decades to come.
Service is brusque and waiters perform impossible pirouettes through narrow corridors and between tables. The food is good without being amazing (go to Les Terraillers in nearby Biot for that) but still the people return. I spoke to one guest who was on his 45th visit. Cannes Festival-goers flock there for respite and multiple bottles of the Provençale rose wine Minuty.
As we kick back by the jade-green pool after a long, lazy lunch in the shaded dining yard, all at once it’s 1931 and I glimpse the ghost of founder Paul Roux and his wife Baptistine negotiating a bar bill with Pablo Picasso…
I can’t believe it’s taken me 58 years to discover Rome. Bursting with history, fashion and restaurants, it’s a magnet for geeks, trend-setters and foodies alike. Most towns can offer history but nowhere is it so evident as in Rome. It’s all around you. I saw chunks of Roman masonry stacked away in an old stone arch (itself probably as old) counting the centuries while patiently awaiting a place in the catalogs of the next generation of tired archaeologists.
The town is big enough to offer huge variety (the backstreets of Trastevere vs. opulence of The Vatican) yet small enough to be largely navigable by foot. We walked from The Bee Fountain in Piazza Barberini (1625) to the Colosseum (AD 72) via the relatively modern (1925) but no less impressive Altare Della Patria – two millennia in less than an hour. Warpspeed.
The top-line attractions however are victims of their own popularity and can be mobbed by selfie-stick wielding turisti and a swarm of multi-lingual, self-appointed VIP guides whose ecclesiastical knowledge could be written on a bible marker. Premium “skip the line” tickets are available which are a good idea, but like Easyjet early-boarding they attract the wrong type of tourists and earn scorn from the 3-hour queue-ers. No doubt soon there will be skip the skip-the-line tickets and skiptheskiptheskiptheskiptheline tickets too – I could go on.
Italy’s economic position is shaky and it’s future is uncertain but Rome seems healthy enough with plenty of premium retail going on. We sampled a little of it with a cocktail on the roof terrace of The Sofitel Hotel whose sunset views over The Spanish Steps and Villa Borghese are pretty much unsurpassed. Then we ate Truffles and lobster at Ad Hoc in Via di Ripetti. I can only hope that the exorbitant cost of these luxuries staves off the Italians’ fiscal collapse for a little longer.
For months (years?) I’ve been trying to think of an excuse to renew my blog. The longer I left it the harder a reason to restart and the weaker an excuse for stopping became.
(say this in a Jeremy Clarkson voice) Until now.
I’ve just watched Top Gear and suddenly it all makes sense. The analogy is all too clear. Months off, a change of direction, new content – my blog and the new Top Gear are (almost) one and the same.
Repackaging a media product and relaunching it when it was already a success was going to be a challenge. What do you keep? What do you change? Why did you stop? Why are you bothering to restart? Who even cares?
Top Gear 2.0 has met with mixed reviews. Chris “I want to punch that ginger ferret” Evans* and Matt “Good looking but a little dull” LeBlanc** are pawns in a much bigger game. Squillions of pounds in distribution rights across 214 territories worldwide and an estimated global audience of 350 million makes TG the most widely watched factual television program in the world, according to the Guinness Book of World Records. Who wouldn’t want to try to anchor this programme for all that fun in so many countries not to mention all that dosh.
But you can’t make magic from a recipe. Magic is first the recipe and then a little something extra and although TG2.0’s audience stats are OK for a launch issue as Evans petulantly asserts, it is missing the little something extra. The magic in TG1.0 was that each week Clarkson dished it out and Hammond and May took it. In TG 2.0 Evans dishes it out and LeBlanc dishes it out too and I can only see a head-to-head sooner or later. Clarkson in a Robin Rialto was funny. Evans and LeBlanc in a Robin Rialtos is, at best, tacky mimicry. Homage to TG1.0 is fine but adding a short off-road bit (the “dirt section” says Evans – fnar fnar!) to the test lap is going nowhere, programmatically.
TG2.0 is a timid half-change; safe-keeping and re-framing programme assets and not boldly-going anywhere very much at all. Not so much a relaunch as a smudgy transit from A to B. I have to make my new blogs better than that, so no pressure there then.
Gordon Moore’s Law stated that the number of transistors on a chip would double about every two years. Moore worked for Intel and predicted this in 1965. His chip had 64 transistors on it and the one in my smartphone has over 1 billion. He was spot on.
The prediction has held good for 50 years which is pretty amazing but what’s most interesting is that it’s now faltering. We’ve reached the end of the line and we just can’t make them any smaller – or so Intel has quietly admitted.
This reflects another law (a particular hobby horse of mine) which is that nothing at all is ever truly sustainable if it consumes something else, or, put another way, everything has a limit. I blogged four years ago (Why running is like Chocolate cake) about the futility of the eternal pursuit for economic growth and why runners can only get so fast. Remarkably prescient in view of the latest news about Greece.
Runners unable to get faster and chips unable to get smaller is actually quite exciting in that it means another curve will be on the ascent and maybe a whole new technology or a new sport will emerge based on something completely new. Can’t wait.
I found myself talking to a friend recently about a short film I’d found of an Irish musician Pete Doran. It was filmed by a videographer I admire called Myles O’Reilly. Myles’ films are short, edgy stories usually featuring a folk musician or band either from, or performing in, his beloved Ireland. They’re really good.
Many of them depict the struggle of the aspiring musician, the bleak weather of Ireland, stuffy pubs poorly lit, ale, smoke, poverty and friendship with a heady mix of passion and national pride.
We got to talking about the diversity of pride; Irish Pride is evident in so many of the faces of the folks in O’Reilly’s films. But each region expresses its own kind of pride in its people; Welsh, Scottish, English, African pride. Aussie pride. Inuit pride. They’re all as different as the places themselves, the faces, the accents, the architecture, the food, the beer…
Pride rises in the face like a glow; half in smile, stern-jawed, eyes wide,we stare towards a distant horizon as it permeates us. It’s what we feel at all the most important moments in our lives and it’s what we feel when we connect as couples, teams, nations and races. Pride can help lift us from despair and can help defend us from attack. And for all its diverse forms it does these things for us all, irrespective of colour, creed or nation, all the time.
Pride knows no barriers and is a defining characteristic for a people but it is also a delicate thing. Too much and it becomes arrogance. Too little and it ceases to be. What a wonderful thing.
One of the nice things about living in a village like Sarratt is that there is a heady mix of people, dogs, horses, cars and pubs. Some of the folks in Sarratt are descendants of many generations of Sarratt dwellers and others just come here to drink or do business in the “Business Park”.
The Business Park is one of Sarratt’s best-kept secrets, half way down Church Lane midway between the Cricketers and the Cock pubs, it’s more of a farmyard with a stables than Stockley Park East.
The horses look out over a row of units that contain a cleaning firm, a Ferrari garage…and a Brewery. Micro-breweries like Paradigm are on the up and Neil Hodges and Rob Atkinson have sunk their savings into this project. It’s a neat little factory using equipment bought from another brewery which was closing down. Their “WinWin” and “Low Hanging Fruit” Ales are a homage to the corporate lives they left behind.
Although the temperatures, recipes and cleanliness have to be absolutely spot-on to get a consistent result, brewing ale is just cookery so you can make as much or as little as you want, using new recipes as seasons or markets demand.
I loved making this little film not least because it is the first time I have ever, (or am likely to ever again) taste beer directly from a brewing vat called Perky. It was bloody fantastic.
Getting a puppy is a life-changing decision. And a garden-altering, property-depleting, carpet-ruining, income-reducing one too. But for all the challenges they bring somehow we forgive them.
Lola is a four-month old Labrador and she loves gardening and is naturally attracted to water. The result is chaos at plant watering time.