Winterpoodles Worldwide

NEW ART BLOG

2009-11-30T18:17:00.000Z

The art blog of Tim Goulding continues at this new address

Alternate Blog Now active

2008-02-22T21:11:00.003Z

To catch up with the very latest you can peruse Tim's alter ego Rudra at www.therudrachronicles.blogspot.com

Seasons Greetings

2007-12-24T12:41:00.000Z

To all family, friends old and new we wish you fulfillment and freedom. Freedom from what? From the tyrany of mesmeric thought. Freedom for what? For no reason and for nothing to be gained. Life as it is.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

2007-09-25T10:16:00.000Z

'If God didn't want us to eat meat why are animals covered in it?'

T-Shirt.

Documentary crew in the mist.

2007-05-16T20:00:00.000Z

Filmaker Conor Heffernan and crew, Michael and Andrea visited today and filmed nearly three hours of footage towards a documentary (half hour) about Tim, Dr Strangely Strange and his painting career. We plan to invite them to the opening of the Catherine Hammond show in Glengarriff on June 2nd and one of the Dr Strange rehearsels in the following weeks. A good time was had by all and a surprising amount of detail concerning the sixties emerged. It appears that Dr S.S has become a bit of an inspiration for some young musicians!

Pithy

2007-02-17T13:09:00.000Z

Save the Earth... it's the only planet with chocolate. Oops; forgot Mars.

If you do not know what happiness is, you will never be unhappy. U.G Krishnamurti

Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former. Albert Einstein

Message in a bottle

2007-02-16T14:43:00.000Z

Tracks

2007-02-15T13:00:00.000Z

Cross the wordly ocean

2007-02-15T12:52:00.000Z

Hayshed Wabi

2007-02-03T16:22:00.000Z

Metal Wabi

2007-01-27T10:27:00.000Z

Wabi-Sabi

2007-01-25T11:05:00.000Z

My new friend the artist David Quinn ( http://www.davidquinn.ie/) has introduced me to the Japanese aesthetic of Wabi-Sabi. To quote Leonard Koren, the author of 'Wabi-Sabi for artists, Designers, poets and philosophers', Wabi-Sabi is a beauty of things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete.

It is a beauty of things modest and humble.

It is a beauty of things unconventional.

In the chapter on the spiritual values of Wabi-Sabi his headings are:

Truth comes from the observation of nature

All things are impermanent.

All things are imperfect.

All things are incomplete.

"Greatness" exists in the iconspicuous and overlooked detail.

Beauty can be coaxed out of ugliness.

Piano Cars

2007-01-25T10:12:00.000Z

On the right you can see the Salvador Dali designed sedan. It's made from squiggy rubber, if only all cars were. This fleet is cruising the top of my late mother's baby grand (stomach steinway as they say). In reality it is a Bechstein made in 1893 and recently superbly overhauled by Jeffers of Bandon. It was a wedding present for my grandmother from her father Mr Justice Wright. I rather fancy being called Mr Justice myself. The paino now resides with me and is pleasant distraction when painting conundrums become too taxing. Painting is a suitable distraction when musical frustrations set in. Symbyosis how are you.

Strangely Normal

2006-10-27T15:16:00.000Z

' Embracing The Norm' is the new rebellion. According to Augusten Burroughs, New York writer, steroids are the new goatee. In my book pink is the new black. And so on...

Now to hard news:
Dr Strangely Strange are in negotiation with HUX records about releasing unreleased material from 1969, 1970 and 1971 . Even talk of the elderly Strangers recording 3 new/old songs in the similar style and format. Thus we may yet hear and see Dr Strangely Strange's 4th album: 'INTERN' .

FLY

2006-08-30T18:52:00.000Z

'Fly' is a new album by an Italian star Zucchero. Meiert Avis has made the video in Cuba with him.

"How can we fly with the eagles if we are surrounded by turkeys?" is the question he poses.

Sea of Hearts

2006-08-29T12:41:00.000Z

Mary Greene launched her solo CD at the Coachman's Inn, Kenmare , Co Kerry on Sunday 27th August. The gig was fabulous with great vocals from Mary and Noel, wonderful guitar solos from Noel and sax and fute from Ande Van Der Hoff . Get the album via tigerdogrecords@hotmail.com or go to their new website : www.greenshinemusic.com

Knickerboker Glory

2006-07-31T00:33:00.000Z

Photograph courtesy of Georgina Goulding

Autumn Fashions 06

2006-07-31T00:21:00.000Z

Bawneen (Báinín) and tartan are all the rage for Autumn this year. It is obligatory to wear head cover, preferably in similar material and colour to the main outfit. A robust and cheerful countenance will be a la mode for those chill autumn days here in , you guessed it, Killarney. Paris papers please copy.

New Ideas

2006-07-28T20:30:00.000Z

I can't understand why people are frightened of new ideas. I'm frightened of the old ones.~John Cage

Uncle Gil's Funeral in Kent

2006-07-02T08:29:00.000Z

Uncle Gil, the second Viscount of Brenchley, was 'laid to rest' at Brenchley church in the heart of Kent. The village is a picture postcard one of Olde England, beautifully maintained half- timbered houses, oasthouses, barns and manicured gardens overflowing with roses. The Moncktons have a strong representation here in the churchyard. Our grandfather the first Lord Monckton lies there with his wife as do two Monckton vicars of the church from centuries before. Gilbert was a huge afficianado of Kent and all things Kentish . He was also a devout Catholic having changed his religion in Taormina half a century ago (the site of our honeymoon). May he rest in Peace. May all his relatives find solace for the bereaved too.

The service was a blend of both mainstream Christian traditions, Catholic and Protestant and for me the highlight was the singing of our cousin Johnnie Monckton; restrained, heartfelt, sensitive and deeply spiritual. It was a call to be without anxiety and trouble; I will have to find out the name of the 'aria'.

No Carb Diet

2006-06-21T12:39:00.000Z

My friend in Seattle assures me she is on a no carb diet:

" No Cheney,
No Ashcroft,
No Rumsfeld,
No Bush. . . and definitely no Rice!"

The Playroom

2006-06-20T10:08:00.000Z

God's Rockery

2006-06-20T09:57:00.000Z

Summertime, West Cork

2006-06-20T09:54:00.000Z

The garden from the patio.

Hang onto your hats.

2006-06-20T09:39:00.000Z

As John Prine says "It's a big old goofy world". It seems The Evil Empire (the American Administration whom Nelson Mandela has called 'the greatest threat to world peace') has us all in its claws, so it’s back to the old game of creating an oasis around ourselves our friends and all we bump into; generating serenity and love as best we can ( with, of course, a wolfish grin on the face and a suitable dash of mischief).

Maybe it has always been this way.
Maybe everything is perfect just the way it is.
Maybe the bastards are out to get us.
Maybes get me nowhere...but I fancy some hot buttered toast. (but what about cholesterol and the starving millions?)

'You can't win' is one way to look at it. The other is 'you can win'. Then again 'what's winning got to do with it?'.

Happy June to friends far and wide, the foxgloves, flag Iris, sea pinks and fuschia are blooming like billyo down here in South West Cork and, as they say, 'the weather is good.....it's raining'.

To frame or not to frame?

2006-05-26T18:30:00.000Z

A respected artist friend informs me of the latest opinion on this thorny question. She quotes a VIP East European curator:

" A painting without a frame is like a dog without a nose".

Barking at Buddha

2006-05-16T14:34:00.000Z

Ultimate Menu

2006-05-16T11:23:00.000Z

May seems to have brought the emphasis on good food and where else but in Alfafara, a small village in the Sierre Mariellas in Valencia Province in South East Spain, could one find such choice as on the following menu? This is a verbatim transcription of some of the items of the day:

COLD INLETS

Wheel of Sausage of the zone
Brave
Chips (cold!)
Tomato with domestic anchovies

WARM INLETS

Moorish Thorns
Calm
Octopus to the Galician
Musilitos of crac
Loin in sauce
Shrimps to the plate
Meatballs of cod
Balls of stew

MEAT

Thorns with Garrison

FISHED

Emporer to the plate
Gilded to the plate
Gilded of the house
Lubina to the Oven

DOMESTIC DESERTS

Card game of Lemon
Card game of Chocolate

ICE CREAM

Tart to the whiskey
Ice cream of scum with nuts
Bag of honey
Senasations of creamand hazelnuts

Bon Apetit

Darling Taste Buds of The Merry Month

2006-05-16T11:13:00.000Z

May 15th Birthday Breckie for the Poodles and ever watchful Perkins. The 61st Birthday of Mr Tim was concelebrated in remarkably relaxed style, kicking off with this stylish breakfast courtesy of Madame. The evening saw an even larger spread of Tapas and some old friends in to watch the best Rock 'n Roll film ever made-"The Last Waltz". Who went to bed a very blessed and happy fella?

Afternoon Banquet

2006-05-16T11:05:00.000Z

Mary Pawle, Joe Thoma and Georgina Goulding shooting the breeze at the Mediterrannean lunch given by Ivan and Mary Pawle at their Kenmare residence on May 14th '06. Needless to say the food and wines were of international standards and the company suitably warm and zany. Not a dry seat in the house as they say.

Does the baby of the dog have Buddha Nature?

2006-03-20T12:30:00.000Z

What was the stage name of your favourite movie star before she was born?

How do you get a goose out of a bottle?

These hoary old chestnuts come to mind when contemplating the deleterious qualities of thought, when activated unneccessarily (i.e. most of the time in this Poodle's case).

The sound of one hand clapping? My hand on your face!

Happy St Patrick's Day

2006-03-17T08:48:00.000Z

Happy Day to friends far and wide. May ye celebrate with verve whatever that entails. In New York you may hear the Pogues playing at the new Nokia venue, at Times Square I think. Paul Scully is there to engineer the sound and I hear that Neil Kelly and Joe are attending on Sunday. Camille is watching the parade in Dublin and the Winterpoodles will catch the event in Castletownbere.

As we all know by now St Patrick's outstanding achievement was to banish the shnakes from Ireland and according to Brendan Behan they went to New York and became cops.

Beautiful at Bondi

2006-03-17T08:36:00.000Z

January 2005 found Georgina and I at Bondi beach. It was black with the beautiful people mostly young and athletic. One of the few exceptions was a gent called 'Beautiful', he showed me his passport with the name inserted, probably illegally. He was about 65 years old and was dressed in Indian manner with headress and some kind of lungi. He stood on the esplanade and greeted passer byes with challenging messages of wisdom, some of which I reproduce here. His message seemed to be one of embracing all of life. I said All. For further detail refer to the archive for December 2004 and read 'Bondi Beauties'.

We are the Ones.

2006-03-14T09:42:00.001Z

As the saying goes "we are the ones we have been waiting for".
It is a comfortable and deadly denial of responsibility to be expecting some Avatar or Messiah to come along. Now is the time, this is the place and we are the ones. The sky is the limit in that we each have similar potential to anyone who has gone before. To abrogate that is to hide.

This doesn't mean that there is anything wrong in spending an ice cream life, just that the expection of someone else doing the eating, especially some imaginary being who usually prescribes for others as well, is michevious.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

timgouldingart.blogspot.com

2006-03-10T12:34:00.000Z

A new blog has been created to concentrate on Tim Goulding's paintings. It will complement the official site: wwwtimgoulding.com

This will allow the Winterpoodle Worlwide site to remain irreverent, irrelevent and quirky. The aim is to shoot from the hip with a blunderbuss rather than with a sniper's precision. We remain eager for your comments at either venue.

Tallyho.

Camille and Barnes Goulding at Vangard

2006-03-09T22:33:00.000Z

More shots from the Vangard Opening

2006-03-09T19:17:00.000Z

Sarah of The Vangard welcomes John Shinnors

Artist John Adams, Ian Bewick and John O'Sullivan of the OS/B Gallery, Maurice Desmond and Sarah again.

Attendees at The Vangard.

2006-03-05T18:31:00.000Z

Camille, Miriam, Tim and Leah Goulding

Artists John Shinnors and Maurice Desmond

Exhibition at Vangard Gallery, March 06.

2006-03-05T12:05:00.000Z

Artist Jim Sheehy and Tim in conversation.

Castelmola

2006-03-02T09:15:00.000Z

Castelmola is a tiny village perched about 1000 metres above sea level and above the city of Taormina in Sicily. There is a precipitous path leading to it and from its walls one may see Mt Etna, snow capped, puffing in the distance about 20 miles away.

This painting emanates from a visit there in December 2005 and draws it's inspiration from a rusty roadsign.

The town's patron saint and protector of it's ancient church is St George which pleased myself and Georgina, it being our honeymoon (luna di miele) when we visited.

Solo Show at Vangard Gallery, Cork City

2006-03-02T09:04:00.000Z

The Solo Show at the Vangard Gallery, Carey's Lane , Cork City opens on Thursday March 2 and runs through till March 23rd. Here are three installation shots of the gallery. 16 of the paintings are from 2006 and are mostly inspired by walls seen in Venice and Taormina, Sicily.

Poisonous Toads

2006-02-15T19:40:00.000Z

No, not your neighbours or workmates but the real thing. If you read our posts from Jan/Feb in 2005 from Australia you may remember we came across a cane toad at The Tin Dog, Federal near Byron Bay (best select accomodation in the world by the way.) Well, here is a link to the latest info on these poor little poisoners and the eco-threat they are causing:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/4716252.stm

Thank God we live in Ireland where St Pat banished all snakes (acording to Brendan Behan they went to New York and became cops)

Camille and Georgina Goulding

2006-01-11T20:45:00.000Z

Camille and Georgina Goulding 'seen relaxing', as the society papers put it, at the Tim Goulding Exhibition at the OS/B Gallery, Enniskerry in November 2005.

Perkins at the OSB Gallery, 2005

2006-01-11T20:34:00.000Z

Perkins, the ever present eminence gris, attended the opening of Tim's one-person show at the OSB Gallery, Enniskerry in November 2005. His insouciant demeanour gained him friends and foes alike. A fatwah was even decreed against this innocent innanimate monkey, made from what appears to be a sock. Watch this space for other attendees of the show.

Season's Greetings 2006

2006-01-07T02:14:00.000Z

Wishing old friends and new:
Health
Serenity
Creativity
Pleasant Surprises
Delicious num nums
Good Relationships
Belly Laughs...........and
A whole bucketful of blessings in 2006

On Patrol

2005-12-25T17:03:00.000Z

Venetian Winterpoodles

2005-12-25T15:10:00.000Z

Pillar box red is in this season with high necked one-piece woolen suits reaching to the ankle. Daring cut-aways leave little to the imagination when it comes to the private equipment. Socks and hats are not usually worn. The connections, as they say in horse racing parlance, are likely to be seen in primary or at least daring colours and should assume a bored ambling gait as they proceed through the narrow alleyways of Venezia.

This much we learned from our honeymoon in Venice although it did occur that this might not be a fashion thing but the Venetian version of St Niklaus. He comes as a dog. After all chocolate bunnies and eggs appear as reminders of Christ's Crucifixion at Eastertime. Anyway, we thought you might like to see how a true winterpoodle dresses.

Dining in Rod's footsteps

2005-11-30T09:09:00.000Z

Last night in Taormina finds us supping at the same hostelry where Rod Stewart had dined, the pictures of him and the host go to prove it, plus Rod's naff inscription in the guest book. A new meaning to Dyno-Rod.

The Poodles or Barboncini came as little shrimps and return as plump cannelloni.

The Inner Birdy

2005-11-29T11:13:00.000Z

We read so much of The Inner Child nowadays, as in "I'm so hungry I could eat my inner child". But what of the The Inner Birdy? He's the one that says " I must have some of that sweet cake and that Cassata, fata in casa."

This leads me seemlessly to the information I read in Time Out magazine that it is common in Argentina amongst middle class families to arrange for their dogs to receive cosmetic surgery so as to resemble the older family members. I can see no reason why this might not lead to the family members having reconstructive work done so as to resemble their older pets.

It's a big old goofy world and stranger by the minute. Chinese astronauts when asked what their favourite music listened to in space was, opined that it was The National Anthem.

Here in Taormina the variably (for obvious reasons) 3,300 metre Mt Etna soars magnificently like a broody hen over the valleys below. Her peak is sugared with snows and she is wreathed in perpetually swirling clouds. We watch for the signs of eruption. The last two big ones were in 2001 and 2002 although the last earthquacke on its slopes was only two weeks ago.

To be a pure tourist is quite liberating . We, of course, are all tourists on this planet.

Wind, Cheese and brittle teeth

2005-11-26T18:54:00.000Z

We hear reports of fierce weather in Irlanda. I write this from the indoor terrace of Villa Ducale, perched high above Taormino. Outside I see the town and country lights as if from an aeroplane. I also hear the fierce winds that swirl around the villa....very unseasonal. We are not sure whether to venture out tonight, it involves a climb down of 738 steps and back of course after the poodles have been at the trough. Last night we chose the vegetarian dinner at the Restaurante Duomo...a five courser which consisted almost entirely of cheese. The main course, secondi piatti, was 'hot and cold cheese' which was one cheese fritter surrounded by vast slabs of cold cheese. The dolce courses were three fifths cheese as well. There was a severe danger of constipazione.

Much worse has been going on for Mr Poodle though. It gnawed on a very hard block of chocolate and lost a filling.....since then constant pain and a wait till Monday for dentisti. At the moment clove oil has been introduced into the muzzle with some relief ensuing. The moral is horribly clear. Mr P's fangs are not up to solid blocks of cioccalata. What lies ahead is an interesting investigative thrust into the soft underbelly of the Sicilian Dental Services, starting with attendance at a free clinic at the suitably named village Castelmola, itself perched on a 500 meter above sea level rocky excrescence remarkably denture like.

Bad Light stops play

2005-11-25T16:09:00.000Z

The Lipari Islands remain unvisited due to pouring rain and cloud at the departure port of Melazzo. The price was steep beeing a taxi fare to and from there but I did manage to visit the bridge of the hydrofoil to ask the comandatore about the metereological prospects, via an interpreter of course. On the way back the later pointed out the hilltop village where 'Godfather 2' was shot.

This afternoon we visited the Greek amphitheatre on the cliffs of Taormina. It looks towards Mt Etna and seems to have perfect acoustics. In the summers the likes of Boccelli, Elton John and Diana Ross have performed there. This is one chic town with shops from all the world's capitals lining the main thoroughfare. Rumour has it that the place is safe due to the patronage of local underworld sorts who launder money in the big businesses. Be that true or not it is hard not to like the local people who are fond of your tourist money but couldn't be more agreeable.

We stay here for the next 4 days and then make our way to Palermo to take flight for a reportedly very frosty Ireland. Please feel free to comment via the button at the bottom of these posts.

Maxims from The Irish Bar, Taormina and a local church

2005-11-25T15:58:00.001Z

"He who drinks beer lives for 100 years, he who drinks wine lives forever".
O'Nelly.

Apart from being patently untrue who the hell is O'Nelly?

More benign, a sign at the entrance of a local church:
"Come any faith in God you have and please offer a minutes silence to 'someone' for life gift".

Ship all over the world

2005-11-24T16:06:00.000Z

This is a sign in art gallery on the main drag of Taormina, Via Umberto. Within are some hideously kitsch pictures which leads one to believe that there is a mispelling in their notice. The P should have been a T.

The Capers of Lipari

2005-11-24T15:43:00.000Z

It is now imperative to write a jig with the above name, it would fit right into the canon of Irish tunes. It is suggested by our tour guide of the day who on hearing of our planned trip to the Aeolian or Lipari Islands informed us that the main export of Lipari, the largest island, is capers. We will report on their succulence and in the meantime start humming. The main purport of the excursion is to view the active volcanoes on the islands of Volcano and Stromboli. Mrs Poodle is also very keen to be immersed in hot mud and then scrubbed down in thermal springs. Mr Poodle looks on with indulgence and trepidation, mainly concerned about the fragrance of sulfur clinging to him for some time. It might leave more room for seating on planes and trains though.

The tour alluded to above was to Mt Etna. It was worth the visit but a little disappointing due to the extreme cold near the summit and the biting wind. It would have been possible to climb to the top crater but we were not thermally equipped. 1,000 meters down it was 4 degrees celsius with high windchill. But from this spot one could see the 2001 and 2002 craters along with the literally hundreds of others below some of which had reeked havoc, I use that spelling advisedly, over the centuries. The active volcano has both given and taken in terms of giving employment to a thriving tourist industry, and ski amenity, and destroying towns and villages with loss of life. All was quiet up there today.

Tomorrow, Friday, we think of the gig of The Fields in the Albert Hall. They open for the Jules Holland Band and are responsible for one of the best and most original albums of 2005. They comprise Mark Flanagan on guitars, Jimmy Bergin ditto and Barnes Goulding on drums. Find out more on markflanagan.com

Luna di miele

2005-11-24T15:31:00.000Z

The winterpoodles are now on their honeymoon, hence "Honeypoodles", and are presently staying at Taormini in Sicily having visited Venice in the North of Italy. The access to Taormina was via nightrain express , a 17 hour journey in a wagon lit which was fine and dandy apart from the lack of sustenance available on board. No dining car but the attendant was able to produce a highly homogenised and preserved ham panini that had been assembled in June (it now being late November). The poodles are non carne types so the dead pigs bottom had to be extracted and the resultant salty mush was consumed reluctantly. This might have contributed to the difficult nights sleep but what a joy to awake in Calabria and cross the Straits of Messina on the train on the boat, reminding me of a song about being "on my pony on my boat" by Lyle Lovett.

Building a patois menu

2005-11-22T19:03:00.000Z

We are on the lookout for additions to the current dishes available here in Italy:

Toast with Stuff
Scrawed Fruit
Boiler Eggs
Parmesan with speak in the roast
Fillet of calf
Cost of pork
Spaghetti with Sea Hurchins
Spaghetti with cryfish and gourgettes
all washed down with Wodka Tonic and breadcrubs

The Mystery Tourist

2005-11-19T18:02:00.000Z

A riddle has presented itself.

How come that within every gaggle of tourists, especially on a guided tour or large lift ascent or descent, there is always one tourist who looks like this: male of sallow to dark complexion, between 50 and 70 years old, shorter than average, with glasses and wearing a beret? He is European and probably Spanish or Italian but occasionally French. There is a somewhat academic or even artistic aura to him. He is sometimes accompanied by a female version dressed in black with silver jewelery and hair. We have spotted two already since being in Venice only three days.

Yesterday we visited the Peggy Guggenheim collection on the Grand Canal. She certainly lived in one of the most beautiful spots on earth, well at least in a city. Her one storey home is now a shrine to her collection of modernist art. In no particular order we were excited by "The Secret Garden" by Paul Klee, a superb cubist piece by Jean Arp, a sculpture in rusting iron, two columns about 15 feet high, by Giuseppe Spagnuli, a very early Morandi and a great collection of Italian futurist work starring Balla, Severini, and above all Boccioni.

WALKING is the great pleasure of a visit to Venice, we feel as if in a film set lit by the greatest lighting camera man. The famous plaster crumble is ubiquitous in every variant of sienna, umber and degraded pink. The November light is sharp and the temperature is brisk to firm. The canals are suitably murky green or as Camille Souter once described a colour "piss left in a milkbottle overnight".

Last evening we attended a choral concert near San Marks square of Venetian music played by a local string quartet with piano and a soprano and tenor. The tenor boasted a volume that would sink a battleship, initiate tinnitus and drown out a string quartet with piano. He also exhibited all the neccessary ham acting as did the slightly more constrained soprano, but only slightly. I found it hard to look at her because of the intense eyebrow work and coy come ons that she directed at the tenor who was 20 years her junior. He responded by kissing her hand and manhandling her bare shoulders as he towered above her. Musically it was rather wonderful and certainly highly skilled but the genre is so demonstrabbly fatuous that it is hard to keep a straight face. Straight faces have been on thin side anyway.

We float on a bubble of all the good wishes we received at the Leslie wedding event and Thank our Lucky Stars and ye, our dear family and friends.

"Toast with Stuff"

2005-11-19T17:50:00.000Z

This is available in the Trattoria by the Ferrovia in Venice.

We are three days now in the pink and gold city and experiencing the memories of life in a medieval city....the walls of houses on opposite sides of the street are often touching and the alleyways can sometimes permit only one person at a time. Above all there are NO CARS and the sounds are just human and canine, apart from the chug of a water taxi or vaporetto. Today we spotted a black poodle encased in a pillar box red knitted coat, to the extent that the only bits of poodle visible were head, paws and private equipment. He was accompanied by a lady in a turquoise coat and was well documented on digital film by the human poodles. Watch this space in December.

Castle Leslie, Elvis Presley, Leslie Leslie, Presley Presley

2005-11-15T14:46:00.000Z

The new Hare Krishna Mantra has been released for 2005 in honour of the Poodlefest held on the 10th November in Co Monaghan. The newlyweds are on the hoof at present so the fully illustrated report from Castle Leslie won't be available till mid December.

At present we find ourselves at Brook Lodge, Macreddin Village, Co Wicklow, planning a trip to Venezia and places South (Siciliy maybe). The walls of Venice are a magnet not to mention the chance of some sea mists on the lagoon. The sweetest smells of Araby are not noted for their prevalence in Venice but at this time of year the Poodle's acute sense of smell (one thousand times greater than that of humans) should be relatively unscathed. What is 'scathed' by the way?

If 'immaculate' is 'unspotted' is 'maculate' 'spotted' as in 'spotted dick' (the dish you understand).

The OS/B show opened on Sunday 13th and remains open until 30th of this month. Closed only on Mondays and Tuesdays. So far there has been an enthusiastic response and healthy sales. Some favourite works still unsold though.

Pink is the new black, 2

2005-11-08T00:17:00.000Z

The joys of icecream and jelly are clearly visible in this summertime snap of Mr Poodle in a cafe at Buttevant, Co Cork. The pink is close to the anti-psychotic wavelength alluded to below. The poodle is as well. Did you know that a recent survey concluded that poodles are the most intelligent dogs, one up on collies. So why the parlours, psychiatrists, diamond collars and fluffy holdalls that are part and parcel of the poodle brigade? Probably the spreading influence of L.A. (Hell A, as the late Bill Hicks names it). Reading his book 'Love all the People' at the moment. It's a searing indictment of the WASP culture of North America. Its sacriligous, profane, vulgar, obscene but pithy and enlightening. Good reading for pinko peace queers who don't pay their taxes. Tally Ho. Here's a quote , at random (ish) from the book:

" Satan's goona have no problem on this planet, cos all the women are gonna go

'What a cute butt!'
'He's Satan.'
'You don't know him like I do'
'He's the prince of Darkness'.
'I can change him.'

And I bet that's true. I wouldn't put Satan- give Satan a snowball's chance in Hell against a woman's ego, man. He'd ride the earth for a day, a week later we'd see Satan out cuttin the lawn.'

Without Music

2005-10-31T09:29:00.000Z

"Without music life would be a mistake". Nietzsche

The Painter's Prayer

2005-10-27T19:27:00.000Z

I came across this prayer recently and feel it merits attention despite its occasional reactionary lapses:

The Painter’s Prayer

From the tyranny of fashion
From the cutting edge
Lord save us
From social irony
From artist's statements
Lord spare us

From a thousand post graduate theses on aesthetics
Lord castrate them without anaesthetic
From art schools and academies
From the legions of instillationists
On a treadmill ever fatuous
Christ, you have suffered enough
Boil them in extreme unction

From the sycophants and explainers
The philosopher-critics and purveyors of novelty
Lord do not listen to the revisionists, let the fires of hell be real
Open the bowels of the earth and keep their anuses warm
With hot pokers over many centuries
Only grant this to me 0 lord
And I will endeavor to follow the truth.

2005-09-27T15:47:00.000Z

Perkins being attended to in The Tin Dog

2005-09-26T23:03:00.000Z

Pink is the new black

2005-09-26T23:02:00.000Z

There is a certain wavelenght of pink that was supposedly used to sedate psychotic patients at correctional facilities. I think it was in the candyfloss area of the spectrum. Any more info would be welcome; it might come in useful to sedate art lovers at my exhibitions. Above we can see the birth of the pink poodle.

Welcome to visitors from timgoulding.com

2005-09-13T17:00:00.000Z

We have now linked up with my website timgoulding.com so you can come here and read scraps of news, gossip (I never repeat gossip so I'll only say this once), observations on life, art and the price of fuel etc etc. Vice versa, readers of the poodle travels can wing over to the serious business of painting and music.

Our first SCOOP is the announcement of the wedding between Georgina and Tim on November 10th. More on this in due course.

Zapotec Shamanic Massage

2005-04-08T17:28:00.000Z

One of the last things we did in Oaxaca was to book what we took to be a steam bath and massage. The brochure clearly showed a kind of invalid short tub with steam and resident Perkins broiling in it, this seemed like an efficient way for exfoliating the dusty heat of Mexico. Accordingly, our hotel receptionist made the booking.

We sped up through the fumey streets in a reckless taxi, nearly colliding at a crossroads with another equally distraught driver. Gestures of universal interpretation were exchanged. Poodles settled back in their seats and for the second time on world travels blessed the Angels for their protection.

On arrival we found our destination to be a healing centre where all day and sometimes all week sessions took place in a kind of garden pavilion. We, however, were asked to undress and don sheets. Then we entered a yurt shaped (hemispherical) concrete building in which one could barely stand. It was dark apart from an altar lit by guttering candles. The altar featured some ancient stones with what appeared to be a bas relief of The Virgin and child. Curiously the Madona was the dead spit of my Mum aged 25 whom I had dreamed of that very morning in between bouts of the roof driller back at the hotel. Curious!

Water was thrown on the fire behind the altar and suddenly it was unbearably hot. Alice Springs would have been refreshing compared to this. We were then handed bunches of local herbs ( rcsemary was one) with which to swish ourselves all over. Georgie Poodle was asked by our practitioner, a charming Mexican man, to arise and he proceeded to let out a string of invocations in a deep and otherworldly voice. My knowledge of Spanish only enabled me to get a glimmer of their content, but I think he was praying for protection of her life and health and for the riddance of any evil spirits or entities that might be lurking.

more to come soon..........

Learned Policemen

2005-03-11T20:31:00.000Z

We read that a police chief in Mexico City has instigated a new regime for his troupe. He was reacting to the popularily held view of the police here as being corrupt, incompetent and lazy. He is asking them to read one book per month and has prepared a list of reccomendations that includes 'The Little Prince' and 'Don Quixote'. One drawback is the fact that 20 per cent of them are illiterate but there is no promotion without a test on the month's reading.

Maybe the Gardai should have 'The Third Policeman' on their precribed list. Any other suggestions?

Dave Allen RIP

2005-03-11T20:19:00.000Z

Another good man gone today.

May he rest in peace, the man who said "I'm an atheist........Thank God".
He would have enjoyed Frederick the Great of Prussia's favourite prayer "Oh God, if there is one, have mercy on my soul, if I have one".

Order in the cashier.

2005-03-11T19:06:00.000Z

A sign in a Mexican Cafe.

The flight to Mexico City from LA takes about 3 hours and was uneventful except that I learnt the Spanish word for stewardess....'Azafata'.It's good to know that I will be having a retired Azafata as a sister-in-law.

Flying low over a city of 25 million at night is a pretty sight especially Mexico with it's hills and mountains. On the ground it was the same old rigmarole though; taking off everything that agitates an Xray several times and queuing for immigration. Soonish we are at domestic departures and after an aborted trip out to the plane we are on board and the pilot explains that traffic is busy and 'It's just one of those days'. Reminded me of Suzie coming into Cork airport and the Aer Lingus pilot announcing 'The weather in Cork is good. It's raining.'

We arrive at the small airport of Oaxaca 45 mins later. Again a long delay for passengers from out of state. Out of state out of mind. It was reassuring to see all the procedures being done per usual except for extreme laissez-faire and inefficiency. Signs of the menaña culture already, a welcome relief from the 'and how are you today?' culture.

Don't even attempt to drive in Mexico. Thank God for the city council's wisdom in putting speed ramps on the airport road. It's a Grand Prix between each ramp and we are talking of cars that have seen their best days.

We arrived at the Casa Sierra Azul around midnight. This is a beautiful crumbling Spanish Colonial building, like so many others in the city. It sports a shady central courtyard, logia?, with fountains and flower pots. Off this is the first room we stayed in . It was spacious but had no window, only a fan that raced at breakneck RPM and was attached to the ceiling by a slender wire. This mad thing's acrobatic manouevering was too much for Mrs Poodlem who prefered a hot night to a possible beheading. Two mornings later we were awoken at 8.45 a.m., not a good hour for poodles, by a deafening banging on the roof above. Now we know why the fan achieved it's instability. This banging lasts all day and is due to two men on the roof with pickaxes. Maybe this is the Mexican equivalent of a break in.

We retreated to an upstairs 'mini-suite' . This is further away from the matitudinal axeing but it has other less welcome features, namely the bathroom. We are paying US Dollars 135 per night(!!!) to have a bathroom that smells uncannily like two week's supply of something that rhymes with 'height'.One needs to steel oneself for a trip to the shower. But even this gross lack of value cannot dent the delight at being in this city. I keep reminding Georgie of the sweet smells of India and how lucky we are to be here. And lucky we are. This is the 'old civilisation' mixed with voodoo catholicism. There is obviously terrible poverty especially in the barrios on the outskirts where people have built homes with no available water, but there is a wonderful relaxed graceful aura to the place, faded elegance and signs of modern culture and facilities being born out of the old way, all mixed up fairly harmoniously. The caveat being that this is a tourist's intuition after being in the country 5 days.

Our first 'desayuno' was taken on the square, which is traffic free, and full of outdoor cafes for us touristas. One could people watch all day. Negotiating the menu we skipped the 'divorced eggs' (one in a green sauce, one in a red), eschewed the grasshoper with guacomole and went for the 'yugurth with brain'.

The square, from morning to night, is peopled with the tiny Mixtec Indian people selling rugs, fans, combs, toys, balloons and sometimes, pitifully, a few pieces of chewing gum. These people really are tiny, maybe four foot tall at most. The elderly ladies have silver hair and are dressed in brightly coloured layers a la Mexican postcards. They seem exceedingly sun-wizened and ancient but we pondered that they may in fact look many years older than actually.

Our first experience of their music was from a little 6 year old boy who stood by our breakfast table, played a few bars of Mariachi on his squeeze box, and let out a couple of phrases of the most rasping intonation one could imagine. Why didn't I bring the mini disc that day? It comes with us all the time now and we have captured some gems.

Lots more to come on this place, our favourite of the whole journey. Perks too, he had his photo taken with a Mixtec street seller, a Danish couple and and a Parisian Vietnamese with her boyfriend. He was also caught canoodling with a life sized skeleton. They are big on them here. Much of the folk art is based on death's heads. Skeletons dancing, eating, rowing boats and generally horseing around. This theme predates the Spanish invasion and is also connected to the important 'Day of The Dead'. On this day the graveyards are visited and it is believed that the poor goners can enjoy a day out and sample again the earthly pleasures.

We have a lot to learn.

City of Angels

2005-03-10T01:48:00.000Z

We'll gloss over the 8 hours spent in Papeete, 'twas only a pit stop. Mrs P and Camille and Darren got themselves dropped off in the centre de ville whilst Gubbins returned to the hotel with all the bags. Happy to do so as I took a a distinct allergy to Papeete. Feel sorry for people who save up to cross the globe to go there for their long dreamt holiday/honeymoon/money laundering. Maybe the island has hidden treasures. The junior poodles were glad to see REAL shops again after the stores of The Marquesas which resembled the general stores of Allihies 35 years ago except less well stocked and less well lit. Mac Donalds was visited.

At 12 midnight we set off for the airport where we queued and waited for the 2.30 fight to LA. It was 28 degrees at this time of night and seemed like 100 per cent humidad (skipping ahead to Mexico there).

The 8 hour trip on the modern Airbus was a dream after the hair raising Marquesan flight.

Georgie and I both thought that LA might be a lower part of our trip and how wrong we were. Certainly the security at the airport was all we expected but, once let out, we had a ball. This was maiñly (Spanish keyboard inserts a tilda) due to our hosts, Meiert and Sarah Avis, old and true friends. We stay in their new garden room, an old garage with it's own outdoor loo and shower overhung by lemon trees and paved with lovely Mexican tile details.

It really felt like home to see them again and good for Georgie to get to know them and the two boys. We aim to spend our last three days there before crossing the Atlantic.

Prejudices run deep in me as you know doubt read on these pages re. the evil empire called the USA (well who has been involved in more wars both overt and covert in the 20th century and who provides 25 per cent of the world pollution and refuses to sign Kyoto... stop it Tim you are starting to rave again). So here's a welcome little detail; on the bus into Santa Monica I couldn't find money to feed the automatic ticket machine, correct change only. 2 ladies, one white and one Hispanic, spontaneously offered me money. SO people are people wherever you go. Neo-con administrations are another matter.

An aside: tourist spotting this morning in the main square of Oaxaca (it takes one to spot one) I saw a fleet of maybe ten red headed American ladies in their forties and fifties. Was this a specialised tour for red heads? As they passed I noticed one had 'I'm a US star' written on the back of her T shirt. Just in case she dies on the Marquesas no doubt.

In LA we caught the virus again, the shopping virus. Try Abbot Kinney and Main Street O reader. We spent some time, well maybe two hours, in a shop called 'Goddess'. The Mexican girl was real welcoming, who wouldn't be when winterpoodles are out with their wallets, and made some jewellery for us. Meanwhile I photoed Perks sticking out of a pair of knickers with Goddess written on them. The indignities of being a stuffed monkey. In another shop he was photoed with the proprietor and also riding a stuffed dog.

The best part of the visit was spending time with Meiert and family and meeting up with Kate Purcell and kids Isabella and Mia. Also their friends Casey, friend of k d Lang, and an Indian godfather of the kids. As always there were many good laughs to be had with Kate who is two months away from giving the world a new being and looking great on it. We hope to see the Dad, Dr Bill, on our way back.

On a whim and with the advice of our hosts we decided to spend a week in Oaxaca, Southern Mexico and maintain the warm winds that we have become accustomed to.

Thus , we set out to LAX and lined up for the interminable X raying and screening. We have a wonderful picture of Perks proudly surmounting a sign that reads :

' Making any jokes or statements regarding bombs, and or threats during the screening process may be grounds for both criminal and civil penalties, all such matters will be taken seriously. We thank you for your restraint in this matter.'

Never have I been thanked for not joking. Have a nice day.

Accessing Previous Posts

2005-03-09T17:37:00.000Z

You may read about our earlier travels by going to the archive buttons for December, January and Febuary.

Ova Hia Cont.

2005-03-08T22:43:00.000Z

A few more comments from Hiva Oa for the screen before we move on East:

On a high ridge overlooking the main village, Atuona, is the 'steele' of Jacques Brel. It transpires he lived his last years on Hiva Oa and was a supporter of and activist for the islanders. His private plane is preserved at the Museum section dedicated to him at the village. That makes two celebrities on the island. In my book celebrities are more often unsung and unknown. I think of Dan and Madge Hanley and John Corby on the Beara peninsula. The celebrity cult is yet another import from good 'ole USA and is often fatuous. People become famous for being famous.

On this subject the director of our hotel on Nuku Hiva comes to mind. She told us a story from her days working on the packet that plied between Papeete and The Marquesa Islands. On approaching Nuku Hiva a gentleman passenger fell ill and died. Due to the extreme temperatures in those parts it became imperative to bury the poor blighter at once. She asked for permission to plant him from the authorities on Nuku Hiva who are jealous of the two celebrities on Hiva Oa. Their first question was 'Is he famous?'

On the peunltimate day of our stay we rented a little 4X4 jeep and drove East to a black sand beach for a swim. Well, it ended up that I was the only taker. I noticed one or two boys swimming down the shore so realised it might be safe. Only when I was beyond the surf did the poster from the village shop come into my mind. It portrays a whole raft of sharks that can be found in these waters. Our hotel director told me that the sharks only operate outside the surf. A quick retreat.

We then drove towards the most Westerly 'village'. It is purported to be a two hour drive for a mere 20 kilometres or so. This road is the most extreme I have ever negotiated. It was really just a rutted mud and stone track traversed by deep water routes (Africa?). We bounced , bumped and lurched along through some of the most dramatic mountain and cliff scenery to be found. Little conversation was possible. Nearly there and poor Camille informs us that she is motion sick. We have the whole trip backwards to do. My heart went out to her as motion sickness is one of the worst and she had restrained from telling us for fear of spoiling the day.

The last day Madame Poodlem and self went horse riding. We went to the home of a guide who sat us up on two gentle nags and we set off through the bush, up little used tracks down steep brush hillsides and finally up on a narrow ridge overlooking the mountains. I experienced that sinking feeling one gets prior to sliding off and being dragged by a foot caught in a stirrup over rocks . The plain fact is that Irish Gouldings were not born in the saddle, unlike our Marquesan host. He was the most charming of men who looked like he was part of his horse. He sauntered along with one hand on his hips (straight out of a Gauguin) and one swishing a sally nonchantly in the air. HE WASN'T HOLDING ON, or whatever the correct horse term is. As for self, I was gripping the saddle and keeping up a barrage of conversation with the horse along the lines of 'That's the boy, you know best, who'se a lovely fella, I'll let you do this bit, you know the way, steady now I said steady' and then I realised he probably didn't speak English so I switched to "bon cheval, tu es tres jolie, bon chance " etc. I noticed after a while that our guide didn't say a word to his horse but I did hear some giggling from Mrs Poodle from behind. She was as confident as a cat and loving the experience. I guess some people are born 20% horse.

Neither of us could walk proper for days. Both of us got our first sunburn in 3 months. The sun was intense at that height despite our 30 factor block. Now I know where John Wayne got his walk.

We ended up taking homemade lemonade at the home of our guide with his happy French wife, little boy (football mad), baby kitty and 8 dogs. They love animals.

Our last night was upon us and we chatted with a couple of fellow guests. He was a gent in his late fifties, aren't we all, who told the hotelier that he was born in England but seemed to prefer to speak French. His partner was a Spanish lady, elegant and understated in her dress as only the rich know how, with a rasping voice and a cigarette never far from her lips. He was always in longs and shoes and socks and white longslieved shirt. Hair slicked back and thinning. ( A very good bad Uncle 'o' for those in on that). They live in Madrid but he visits his farm in Oxford every few weeks. He told me that he had done the classic Circuit of Ireland last year in his MG TF. He could have done it in one of his more expensive cars (Alvis? Lagonda?) he confided but it was as well he didn't as "the man who looks after my cars" had to spend 7 thousand pounds repairing the road wear.

They were going to Courcheval to ski with 'various children from various marriages' after their roundworld trip. This seemed par for the course. Despite their studied boredom (very English) there was an air of quiet tension. The Latin and the Anglo Saxon. The ever present drink and cigarette might only last so long. Who knows? But it is fun to people watch.

So, bye bye to these remote islands, the smells , the mosquitos, the sweetie pies and sourpuss. Time to leave the little airport, landing place of frightened poodles, without so much as a doggie or cat goodbye. Up into the blue skies and Papeete and Los Angeles Ahoy.

2005-03-08T17:19:00.000Z

Hiva Oa

Ova Hia

2005-03-08T01:07:00.000Z

That's what Georgie calls Hiva Oa.

Our Hanakee Pearl Lodge Hotel is high above the bay and overlooks a giant mountain that dominates the village of Atuona below. Here are all the mod cons, especially pool. Here we were treated to Champagne and a Polynesian band on our arrival, still in shock from the air basket experience.

These islands have wild bantam like hens of magnificent plumage that riddle the place. They were introduced from distant time zone, Indonesia?, and have NOT reset their clocks. They actually cluck and crow 24 hours, maybe homesick. At three o'clock in the morning to a bird they start their crowing just outside our bungalows. Even the Director says he can't get back to sleep. Although I have not knowingly eaten meat since 1969 I was close to having Poulet au lait de coco.

The Director is an interesting character and new to the job. His previous assignements included many years working as a concert soloist, playing the flute. He retired because of Tinnitus which confirms my conviction that it is a high frequency disease and I don't mean the higher you get the more frequent it becomes. Piccolo players get it and pianists and whistle players as I know to my detriment. He has also worked in hospitality industries and spent 2 years as a butler. He has taken on the management of this remote spot with his wife and 5 year old child. He has a great sense of humour and French Bonhomie.

He was also related by marriage to the late French painter Francis Picabia and had stories of Duchamp and Calder amongst others. Since the age of 7 he practised the flute 7 hours a day. on our last night he gave as a small concert of classical favourites, Bach, Verdi and more. Absolutely superb playing, breath control, tone etc and such a surprise to be sitting above a remote bay listening to such a thing.

We asked about the islanders and what they did. He said "somewhere between very little and nothing". He also said they had everything they needed around them. If hungry one only needs to wander a little to find abundant fruit for the picking and fish to catch. There is little to spend money on and the export of Copra and Noni brings in cash.

It is very ill advised to make all these snap descriptions of places and especailly people based on a three day stay. But first impressions are not to be underestimated as much research shows when it comes to the attraction between the sexes. That said, we found the islanders of Hive Oa somewhat aloof, indifferent and closed to winterpoodles. More so than on Nuku Hiva.

The village Atuona houses the Paul Gauguin Musee, a very impressive set of connected houses built in the traditional style including the restored house where he lived. There are no originals on view but many legal fakes and some excellent display work tracking his stay on the island. It appears from what we heard that he spent much of the day drunk and if living today would be in jail for contravening the Mann Act several times over. A cantakerous rebellious type but completely genuine about his mission and vision. Some of the letters on display were heart rending to read. A sad tale but a great artist. Where have I heard that before (Mozart, Van Morrison, Munch etc).

Serving us at table we had another sweetheart of unknown gender and also a chamelelion lady who was dressed like a Diva, poured into a white dress with High heels and a flower behind the ear. She would cut you dead or give you a smile for no known reason. We called her Maria Callous.

More to come..........

The Blanching of Perkins

2005-03-06T00:09:00.000Z

As you know, Perkins is a small stuffed monkey with white paws and hands. The rest of him is orange.

He didn't come out of his back basket for three days after the flight to Hiva Oa and we were more than surprised to see that he hadn't blanched completely. As for his minders.......

Georgina, Camille, Darren and self had one of the most frightening experiences of our lives:

The flight to Nuku Hiva from to Hiva Oa is supposed to be 35 mins in duration, but we soon realised that the visibility was worsening and the journey would lengthen. We were flying in cloud most of the time but after an hour or so I glimpsed some sea and then a bit of coastline with very low cloud on it. We soon realised we were traversing the side of the island and circling down to the sea every now and then. It was getting incredibly hot and humid and we were told in French that we would soon be landing, but nothing of the sort. Shortly after that the windscreen wipers packed up (we learnt later that the GPS had as well). After nearly two hours of this the pilot announced ' nous commencent nos dernier tosse'. Not knowing French at all well I took this to mean 'last throw of the dice'.

Night was on us and suddenly the pilot put us into a steep climb and we cleared the cloud at about 4 thousand feet. We then dived down into the dark cloud and miraculously emerged high on the island in a clearing where we could see runway lights and two big strobe lights to guide us in. With much buffeting we landed and taxied to the airport which was closed and unlit. After some time people arrived and after a further wait our hotel director turned up and his first words were "you have all had strong emotions". The passengers were hugging each other and I must admit I was shaking, having been rigid, speechless and drenched in sweat on the plane. Georgie thought I was going to have a heart attack. Me too. Camille and Darren were further up in the plane but were both very shook too. Camille said Darren didnt want to fly again, something we all felt.

The 35 minute flight took 2 hours 5 minutes. We also learned later that we could not return to Nuku HIva because their runway lights were inoperative.

Again my admiration for aviators and their skill and sang froid increased. I have never felt so strongly that the 'last toss' was upon us .

The hotel director assured us that the pilot had been one of France's best military pilots and had also been in the French Control (What that? Foreign Legion?). We heard that he was not well the next day although apparently unconnected to our jouney. Apparently.

This has been the lowpoint of our travels.

Leaving Huku Hiva

2005-03-05T23:55:00.000Z

And on the fourth day the 4 X 4 arrived and four winterpoodles boarded. The 2 hour trip to the airport on the far end of the island 45 kilometres away was achieved in 1 and a half hours due to a new driver and dry 'roads'. On the top of the island we stopped to photograph a ravine where wild goats live and also spirits. Because of the latter tourists are barred from entry.

We arrived at the airport to find the airport bitch and her feline companion awaiting us again. They seem to be permanent residents.
We boarded the Twin Otter, about 14 of us, and took off into the low cloud. After maybe 20 minutes we landed at Oa Hive a small island nearby which has dramatic spires of black rock shooting into the sky. The airport building was more of a bus shelter with no animal attendents. The pilot and and passengers sat under a roof and chatted while we waited for some sort of clearance for Hiva Oa. After half an hour in the intense humidity and heat we reboarded and set off for Nuku Hiva again, skimming in low below the ever lower cloud base. Doggie and cat were waiting. Another wait. No water vailable. Hot!

Haiku of the week

2005-03-05T23:53:00.000Z

Your mouth is moving
Up and down, emitting noise
I've lost interest.

Human Sacrifice

2005-03-04T04:49:00.000Z

Yes, it did take place on the Marquesas and I think within the last 150 years. It seemed that every tribe was at war with every other one and it was quite accepted to nip into your neighbour's village and bring back a couple of 'long pig', sweet tasteing I'm told. Certainly there is still some eating of dog on some remoter islands or so our guide Jean-Pierre told us with a twinkle in his eye and a rub of his tummy. This charming man brought us on a three hour outing to his home village. There the main industry is not just copra but the picking, barelling and exporting of Noni fruit which grows abundantly. Behind the village, really just a strip of open sided corrugated iron huts with shiny 4X4s beside them, is the jungle of palm trees and bananas.

Jean-Pierre led us up a jungle path in intense humidity to a clearing where in ancient times unspeakable events occured on a sort of stone dais with strange carved figures inserted reminiscent of Sheila na Gigs but much more threatening . These are the Tikis that are abundant on the islands and are spirits or deities according to different versions. They all have big bug eyes like ET and wide threatening grins . Some sport vestiginal horns and all are meant to be aggressive and powerful. Personally, and Georgie concurs, I find them plain ugly but that is probably very un-PC .

In this jungle clearing the Gods got there on back on Georgie (see the mosquito article).

We drove to the house of a local sculptor and his family where we shown his wares laid out on a table. The room was very bare and sported a telly, the sacred heart and pictures of his children with crowns of flowers. A lovely dog and her tiny puppy lounged on the doorstep. The sculptor seemed indifferent to our prescence but the two beautiful little girls , maybe 4 and 5 year olds, where very inquisitive especially when Perks popped out of my pocket. They had their picture taken with him. Meanwhile we bought a necklace and a little wooden turtle from the enormous wife. There seem to be a prevalence of obesity on the islands. Longevity is not achieved. You are an old man at 50 and heading to the home of the goner in your sixties. It seems the climate is particularily hard on the lungs and also there are mozzie born diseases, our Jean-Pierre survived Dengue Fever in 1968. He also remembered a Tsunami in that year that took severeal cattle and horses but no people in his village.

We returned to Taiohae and he brought us to his house where we met his lovely wife, adopted baby from another island, and 24 year old daughter. The wife gave both of us a necklace made of local seeds and showed us how she fills 20 gallon drums with Noni fruit for export. The house consists of one large room, kitchen, bedroom, living room all contained within.

This was our only contact with islanders and even that had to be done through the medium of my embarassing school boy French . But what a wonderful day out. Little did we know what awaited us the next day on our trip to Hive Oa. That will be the subject of our next post.

Flora of Nuku Hiva

2005-03-04T04:24:00.000Z

Our hotel on Nuku Hiva, The Pearl Lodge, is situated on a little plateau above the bay and looks onto the village of Taiohae . This prospect includes the crescent of surrounding craggy mountains rising to two thousand feet. The bungalows are secreted within a beautiful garden planted by an American lady who lives nearby. The original site was covered with Tamarind trees, large and strong with turd like pods that drop to the ground and confuse guests. Judicial felling took place and now one can see a sample of nearly all indigenous species. It reminded me of a tropical version of Dargle Gardens, being a woodland garden with mature flowering trees and shrubs.

The most dramatic trees that appear all over the island at the moment are the 'Flamboyents' or Royal Poinciana (Delonix Regia). They are large trees with fern like leaves and bright scarlet flowers. There is also a side variation with bright yellow flowers. On the top and middle sections of the island are straggly trees a bit like hazelnut bushes with fried egg shaped flowers in lemon yellow, wild Hibiscus. Mango trees, and some very ancient ones, are plentiful and other fruit trees include; Guavas, Nonis, Breadfruit, Papaya, Pamplemousse, Bananas (large plantations), and ginger.

In the gardens are to be seen fountains of Bouganvillea, hibiscus, monettes, Frangipani trees and Ylang Ylang. Also the lovely Oleander.

Higher up we saw some new plantings of Teak and Mohogany. For my first time I saw Balsa wood growing too and also the Pandanus (Terminalis), the fronds of which make the basketwork walls and ceilings of some habitations. There is also some remaining Sandalwood left although most was cut by the French and exported.

This is a gardeners paradise and of course you can achieve very quick results in the tropical climate. We are not far from the Equator.

Andrew Gina

2005-03-04T04:09:00.000Z

The strange phenomenom of gender uncertainty crossed our minds on the two islands we visited. It was the general opinion of our party that there is a masculine look to the female islanders and this was born out by letters of Gauguin's that I read before visiting. He asserted that there was none of the 'tweezer' legs of the Parisian lady to be seen, the thigh continued uninterrupted to the foot that tends to be large in itself. His paintings bear out this physiognamy most faithfully. We felt we were walking amongst a caste from his paintings. But, what is more, some of the people who worked in the restaurants were hard to classify; they seemed to be men dressed in dresses and crowned with hats or crowns made of fresh flowers and had sweet high voices. They also fell in love with Perkins (our stuffed monkey, for new readers) and we have some photos to show.

So we have named the doubtful ones Andrew Gina (androgynes). By the way, that monkey was photoed today (4th March) in LA with 6 trained border collies one of whom is the American National Obedience Champion. So Blair has been outstripped.

The advantages of hairy legs

2005-02-25T04:54:00.000Z

Nuku Hiva has a population of 2,800 souls and a population of 2.8 trillion mustiques or mosquitos. These later love the soft smooth skin of fair haired Irish folk but they avoid the hairy bits. This fact is borne out by poor Mrs Poodle. She is destroyed. On our trip into the jungle yesterday we visited an ancient site where human sacrifice was performed. Some atavistic memories have transferred to the mosquito population who remembered all when they saw Georgina. As I write her legs are like the surface of a very red moon. We counted roughly 50 bites on one of my legs but not where the hair grows and not inflamed like Mrs P.

Camille has not fared much better, although she avoided the sacred site, she declares that she does not want to live in the tropics. This all goes to prove the wisdom of the Irish proverb; 'there's a pike in every pool. '

I must quote the official view of things for Polynesie Francaise: 'No snakes, poisonous spiders or fearsome animals frequent these islands'.

Our best friend has become the little lizzard who lives in our rooms, the Gekko. Two reasons: he eats mosquitos and he makes the most delightful 'tut tut tut tut' noises like a scolding granny.

Forza Gekko!

Nuku Hiva

2005-02-23T21:59:00.000Z

We land at Nuku Hiva airport, a rough dodecagonal wooden hut on a scrubby deserted headland on the Western tip of the island. The chief delight was being met by the airport dog and cat; They greeted most of the passengers and the cat curled up under Camille's seat, she being aLeo and cat lover. Dublin airport please copy.

There were three other animals on reception duty in the men's toilet. In the pan of the leaking rusty shower were three of the largest cockroaches I have ever seen.

From the air the island strongly resembled the terrain of West Cork, a kind of tropical Glengarriff. As soon as we were loaded into a fleet of Land Rover Defenders, the only transport, we began to realise what a pothole can really be; all that fuss in Ireland about a few creases in the road! The tarred road gave up after the first bend and we wallowed and bounced over dirt tracks, through fords and more urgently round 180 degree bends with precipitous drops; the road climbing continuously. After an hour or so we reached a summit of 4,000 feet. At this height the land is forrested with fir trees (Casuarinas) 'ironwoods' which the Marquesans make tools from. They can only be carved on the first day after cutting and for a couple of hours the next day after being soaked in water. Then the wood turns to 'iron'.

Near the summit we hit a wet patch of mud and the Landrover went what American racecar drivers call 'loose'. The back hangs out sideways. Instead of heading along our ledge nice and neat we had a brief frontward view of the chasm below. Racecar drivers call this the brown trouser moment. It elicited a few gasps at least.

We travelled through this new terrain for two hours passing not a human although a scattering of horses (originally introduced from Chile), cows, goats and a scattering of pigs were to be seen. We covered the 45 kilometres in 2 hours eventually descending from the high plateau into the bowl of of 800 metre hills and a little coastal village Taiepae, population 1,800. It would remind one of a tropical Allihies, althpugh the houses are constructed of corrugated iron and wickerwork in the upper regions and some concrete ones near the shore.

Papeete

2005-02-23T21:43:00.000Z

Georgina, Camille, Darren and Tim landed in Papeete, the captial of Tahiti, on the evening of Feb 19th having set out 5 hours previously from Auckland midday on the 20th of Feb.

We were hit by a wall of humidity and met by pretty Tahitians who placed floral leis around our weary necks. Serenading us were three middle aged male musicians wearing sarongs and floral shirts, chewing gum and looking bored as hell. But I'd kill for those close harmonies.

It's great to see passengers of all shapes and sizes walking around the airport wearing flowers round the neck and in the hair.

Chief memory of Papeete; rain rain and more. To be honest we were there only a day but the word 'dump' came to mind. The hotel, more like motel, was on the outskirts of the city. It seems very poor and run down around there; high rise flats with crumbling façades. Lovely trees enliven 'though. We saw Moira's snack bar and Patricia's hair salon. Ex-pats?

After a day of looking at rain it was time to go the airport for the Marquesan flight. Passing through the rigorous security as usual we were reminded not to bring any 'feux d'artifices' with us. We were clean out of them anyway.

So, we boarded the propellor driven AT 72 of Tahiti Air and took the 3 hour flight to Nuku Hiva.

Basket Talk

2005-02-23T21:32:00.000Z

To better understand la langue de la caniche d'hiver it's important to start with the various uses of the word 'basket'.

The older usages can be traced to a polynesian pidgin language.
Examples:

'Basket belong trouser'................pocket.
'Titti basket'.................................Brassiére

Modern Poodle Usages:

Cotton basket...............................Bed.
Water basket................................Bath.
Earth basket.................................Grave.
Air basket......................................Aeroplane, (of course derived from Montgolfier's invention).

At the Royal Tahitian Hotel we dined under a basket; the roof was an inverted bowl made from the fronds of the Pandanus tree, many bungalow walls are made from this wicker.

Further advanced lessons in Poodle available on request.

Imaginary Friends

2005-02-23T02:46:00.000Z

A common game in childhood was 'O'Grady says'. Whatever 'O'Grady' said we had to do, we took turns in being 'O'Grady'. Same way, as Indians say, we have to do what Perkins wants. Coming from the USA he was homesick and with simeon logic he wanted to go the long way round to make new acquantancies. You see he is fond of the photo opportunity. Accordingly he has been snapped with a Thai waitress, Roselle and Richard Wilson and friends, homeless teddy bears on the steps of the Auckland Vincent De Paul, window shoppers, Michelangelo's David in glass, guests at the Tin Dog and a very large bird. He has also posed naked at Ayre's Rock , Bang Tao Beach in Phuket and in a hot air balloon over Queenstown amongst other places. He is biding his time here in Nuku Hiva.

In NZ he was joined by Irwin, a small brown monkey, and a white poodle with very black nose and larger than average legs whom we met in Daylesford near Melbourne. Brendan the Kerry farmer has been along from day one but spends a lot of time smiling enigmatically and digesting his enormous potato lunchs. Ayre's Rock, Uluru, was far too hot for him and he stayed in the suitcase. Ever had that feeling yourself?

There are two observations that flow from these remarks:

First, in Australia and New Zealand there are inordinate supplies of stuffed animals on sale, many in the windows of the respective equivalents of the Irish Country Woman's association but also many in your common or garden 24hr convenience store. I suppose one might be stuck for a stuffed toy at 3am (sheep?).

Secondly we saw the winner of this year's Turner Prize being interviewed on TV. On the subjrct of religion he said that he had no objection to people having imaginary friends as long as these friends did not tell him how to live his life.

Our friends give no advice, only encouragement (to buy more stuffed toys).

An Incident: In a restaurant on aptly named Ponsonby Street in Auckland an elderly couple saw Perkins having his photo taken. At the end of the meal they came over and said 'We love your monkey. Don't laugh (we did) but we export NZ teddies and dollies all over the world. We travel with 6 suitcases full and have sold to Trim, Co Meath.

The whole world is in danger of becoming imaginary . Someone should give the likes of Bush, Blair and the IRA some nice cuddly toys and a cup of hot choccie. It works wonders.

Why these three I hear you say; samples of our western fundamentalists.

Polynesie Francaise-the facts.

2005-02-22T21:31:00.000Z

PF is composed of 121 islands spread out over an area slightly larger than Europe in the South Pacific. It is made up of 5 Archipelagos; Marquesas, Tuamato, Australs, Society and Gambines. The largest settlement is Papeete on Tahiti, which is on the Windward Islands one part of the Society Islands.

The population of the lot is just over 250,000.

Tahiti is 6,000 kilometres roughly from both Australia and West coast America. It is 18,000 kilometres from France.

1,500 kilometres NE of Tahiti lie the Marquesas and that's where we are at this date. It's a 3 hour flight and the local time is plus half an hour from Tahiti. We are staying on the largest of the northerly islands called Nuku Hiva.

French Polynesia has one of the highest costs of living in the world.

Veni Vidi VISA. Ouch!

Donkeys etc

2005-02-22T21:14:00.000Z

On the flight to Nuku Hiva on the smallish ATR 72 propellor plane we were served lunch. Georgie and I were presented with two large slabs of meat. I asked the hostess what they were and was astounded to hear her say 'donkey'. I questioned her again and found out that the old hearing is definately defective. It was turkey. Still, that's an innovative idea for ethnic airlines.

This leads me to a little known fact; more people are killed each year by donkeys than by aircrashes. Comforting for non farmers.

Another piece of useful info: Charlie Chaplin once won third prize in a Charlie Chaplin look-alike competition.

And again: when you lick a stamp you ingest 0.1 of a calorie. Georgie and I have been putting on weight.

Lobe Toner is an anagram of Toblerone.

Jumping Ahead

2005-02-22T08:03:00.000Z

Dear fellow travellers, paper tigers and running dogs this is for you;

We have temporarily jumped ahead of ourselves and landed on Nuku Hiva the largest Northerly island of the Marquesas, via rainy Tahiti. I hope to update the journey shortly from there although the computer keyboard is ectopic in the extreme. Much to tell further back along the line so keep checkin in and send your comments too if you wish. A hearty handshake across the globe and DONT POSTPONE JOY ; Today is the new tomorrow. XX

Auckland O Auckland

2005-02-22T08:02:00.000Z

Back up the East coast of South Island, through Geraldine stopping for a Moor's Head and a cup of hot choccie, and up through the long outskirts of Christchurch we went. 3 hours at the airport where we had fun making inane stickers on an even inaner Japenese photo booth before boarding a flight for Auckland, a seriously big city. We arrived late in the evening and immediately got stuck in a large traffic jam, the result of a cricket match between Australia and New Zealand.

The next two days we had for visiting friends seeing Morgan's childhood neighbourhood and spotting the local advertising announcements, a good way to judge a culture; if that be then what does 'Honk if you think I'm a Hornbag mean'?

Now it's tine to leave the Antipodies after over two months and hit the South Pacific Ocean. Blue skies, sandy beaches, grass skirts and lawnmowers? Hang in dear reader.

Floating and Lugeing

2005-02-22T07:59:00.000Z

Queenstown is the place for young sporty daredevils and was much loved by Camille and Darren. Senior poodles too had their fun. Apart from the basket ascent they went up the mountain that overhangs the town and made 5 descents on the 'luges' which are really three wheeled go karts without engines that run down a concrete track. The best of fun. Maybe that is where the back trouble started. Mr Poodle had a 2 wheeled 'moment' on a corner that neccesitated a foot out of kart. At the bottom an Aussie gent came up in amazement and said over and over ' I thought you were gone'.

The day previous we had ourselves inserted in a harness and were dragged into the air under a parachute from the back of a boat. High above Queenstown peace rained and we sailed soundlessly. Well almost; there was some nasty creaking from the rigging, kind of snapping sounds.

Talking of peace Georgie brought me to an establishment with eyes down on St Valentines Day. On raising them I found us to be in a massage house and we entered a flotation tank. These scary looking devices are like a cross between a body scan capsule, coffin and space luge; One lies down in the saline solution closes over the cover and floats in the dark; Only the sound of one's blood pumping to be heard and the high pitched ringing for those with tinnitus. Surprisingly the confinement and lack of spatial indicators leads to a slowing down of Mr Monkey the commentator and before you know it you are, to quote a brochure in Byron Bay, 'meditating deeper than a zen monk'. This was followed by a divine massage, so poodles have had a complete service if I may use the term and have no excuses to look for mercy.

What else in Qtown? Maybe the best outing of the lot was a two hour bike ride to Frankton and back along the shore line and through the botanical gardens.

There was some talk of a bungi jump but fortuitously a bad back intervened. Was that the CAUSE of the bad back?

After 5 days it was time to have one last dinner at Dux de Luxe , the stylish vegetarian and fish restaurant and brewery. We were served by a South African descendent of the founder of Foyle's bookstore in London. Charing Cross Road?

Stew Bloody Pendus

2005-02-16T07:52:00.000Z

The highlight of the Queenstown visit, in feet as well, has been the dawn ascent of the winterpoodles. They achieved 7,300 feet with 2 Scots, 12 giggling Chinese (Dark Mavis opines that this gives a whole new meaning to Chinese Takeaway), a stuffed monkey and a NZ pilot in a wicker basket with a vast balloon above them containing seven tons of air.

We rose at 5.45 am, a world record, and were in the mini bus at 6.15am. We drove to a field about 5 miles from the town. Here was a bus, a trailer, and a limp lump of colourful material. On the front of the pilot's land cruiser I paid by visa card through an electronic satellite connection. Next some large hairdryers were put in place and slowly a balloon appeared above us in the dawn sky. We were told where the life jackets were and that the basket would float in water. Then all aboard into four compartments in the wicker basket. Next some very noisy blasts from the gas burner above us and within a few minutes we lifted ever so gently off the ground. beautiful. Very quickly we were looking down at the fields with their morning moisture and could hear the 'mews' of the fawns belonging to the deer flock. With ease and no turbulence we cruised through a two thousand feet and could see the sun peeping over the top of the mountains and the mist hugging the rivers. There was low cloud further off, in wisps.

Sometime at this point Mr Poodle had a most uncomfortable feeling commonly described as panic. Being a public school boy the stiff upper lip was maintained but the thought that the ground was hundreds of feet below and all that seperated him from it was a basket and the skill of this very nonchalant New Zealander who answered question as to any idea where we would land with the reply "There's no point having a plan as I will only be disappointed," was paramount.

My admiration for brother Ham who works in this medium intensified. I realised that I am a ground man, in fact love the ground under foot.

So for twenty minutes I think I experienced what is called 'the fear of flying'. But the cure was the sheer beauty of the earth below, the patterns, the long shadows of a new day and the peaks of the mountain ranges. All the same we were only in a basket.

Georgina was captivated and leaning frightenly over the side, not a care in the world.

We soared to 7,300 feet, at one point rising at 600 feet per minute. The maximum is 1200 feet per minute.

The time arrived to return to earth; apparently the gas supply is limited.

So we descended to about 20 feet above a golf course and just avoided a hole in one. The pilot was on the phone to ground crew and said he didn't know where we would land, but he had a brainwave, gunned the burners and we rose to 1,000 feet and got blown to the other side of the valley. To cut a long story short we skiimmed across a road swooped up a bank, cleared a barbed wire fence and hopped down in a new cut corn field. Perks was out first and first in line for the breakfast table that miracuously appeared with white tablecloth, Champagne, croissants, fruit and coffee. To further Chinese giggling and horseplay we were presented with diplomas attesting to our status as Balloonatics. My favourite status was being on the ground again.

One of the aviators wrote in the visitors book 'Stew Bloody Pendus', hard to better that.

Hot Air

2005-02-16T07:06:00.000Z

Queenstown:
It beads along the side of a large lake at the foot of giant Alpine Peaks. Playground in summer and skifields in winter. Here you can do the most extreme outdoor manoeuvres or play crazy golf. Here the winterpoodles found a lovely serviced appartment on the lakeshore, the first room even having a rooftop hot tub. We wake up and wonder what the ... we are doing here. It really is a dream. OK there are always little niggles; why is the curry burnt, where did those spots come from, who took the scissors, why is my back so sore etc . And why do we have to leave tomorrow? Well a good answer for that one is that we will see Camille in Auckland.

There is SO MUCH to report from here that I am going to take a dinner break and resume soon again. Love to all family and friends . We look forward to seeing you all again soon, Inshallah.

Information for seasoned travellers

2005-02-16T07:01:00.000Z

It has been found that the surfaces that contain the most germs in the average household are in and around the kitchen sink. The least are to be found on the toilet seat. If Aliens came to earth their most sensible course of action would be to eat off the toilet seat and .........in the sink.

Lupins and Fruit Farms.

2005-02-16T06:51:00.001Z

As we left Lake Tekapo we noticed the last flowers on hundreds of lupins along the road. The verges were smothered in them for many miles, both ordinary and tree lupins. Apparently these were sown many years ago by a pioneering gardener in Tekapo. Now they are 'garden escapes'.

Soon we were driving through lakeland and mountains iced with snow. In the valley we passed vineyards and wonderful fruit farms . We stopped for fresh apricots , peaches, plums, raspberries etc. Onwards to Queenstown the playground of New Zealand and the site of Perkins's first ascent in a hot air balloon.

It's the gaps between the notes

2005-02-16T06:47:00.000Z

that make the rythm.

Driving in the sparse interior of OZ and a lesser extent NZ I realised that this holds true for town and country. As Gerard Manky Hopkins said "Long Live the weeds and the wilderness yet". Breathing spaces are often overlooked.

Pause.

Mosney Gone Wrong

2005-02-16T06:20:00.000Z

This was Mrs Poodle's first impression of Lake Tekapo where we stayed the second night in NZ.
The first night we stopped at the little town of Geraldine and stayed at the local pub. It seemed a dismal place after a fairly dismal drive through flatlands reminiscent of Belgium, the difference being GIANT hedges of what looked like clipped Leylandii forty feet high in long straight lines. It was raining and chilly after the Australian interior. Mosney premonition.

The next morning Geraldine seemed a bit happier. Well, it does have a Swiss chocolate factory in a storefront location, a poodle can purchase a hot choccie and treat for a snack. We saw what the germans sell as Moorenkopf and I said to the lady proprietor you have moorenkopf. "We do not call them that anymore" preceded an icy stare.

The town museum was invigilated by an elderly lady who had an accent second only to the newsworthy Camilla Parker Bowles. She had spent time in Dublin and grew up in London and Buckinghamshire. She said "do people still send their children to Public Schools?" . Big question. Which people? She was knitting and told us of her new found love of growing oraganic veg.

I was torn away from Geraldine by the ever alert Mrs P and we set off towards Queenstown, leaving the low country and climbing towards Alpine scenery. We stopped at Lake Tepako, whose colors are an iridescent turquoise due to crushed ice from the glaciers above. Huddled at water's edge is an ugly town of tourist facilities. At this Georgie pronounced the country to be like 'Mosney gone wrong'.

Worse, we had to pay a fortune to stay at a very classy B+B, every mod con BUT. We were informed that drinks would be served in the drawing room at 6.00pm. Our jaws dropped when we entered. Poor Mrs Poodle, she was being born while the others were just retiring. The topic of rather forced conversation was Camilla and Charles. Sweet people really, especially the Yorkshire farmer and wife and the very elderly couple who chafed each other and winked at us. Reminded me of the time I met an eighty year old man in Mallow who said "would you like to see my wife?". Simple and obligatory reply "yes". But what was I to say when he said in front of her "she's awful isn't she?". Several replies stuck in my throat such as "Not too bad" and "wonderful considering". I think I got away with " Now don't be saying that."

We had our drinks and rushed to the town to find everything close to closed. So NZ is the same as OZ. The chef throws in the spatula at around 8.00 pm.

50 million sheep and 2 caniches d'hivers

2005-02-16T05:59:00.000Z

live in New Zealand on over 25,000 farms. The T-Shirts here read "Baa Baa Baa Bar Bar Bar'.
Or as they say One tequila Two tequila Three tequila Floor.

Over three and half million people live here too. So it's two islands with a similar population to Ireland and a size a bit bigger than the UK. The immediate difference is that the stuffed toys are mostly sheep rather than bears.

We landed in Christchuuuurch, yes it was quite bumpy over the Tasman Sea.

NZ is very strict on the import of organic matter. Very strict, I said. This neccessitated the consumption of a banana in the queue up for customs. No fruit allowed in.

On the other hand the Post Offices here are wicked. An Post please copy. Everything you need in the one place; stickers, cardboard boxes, tape, silly postcards, padded envelopes (no cells yet), maps, and FRIENDLY postal agents. (Beara please ignore that last comment). Should we start some private post offices in Ireland?

Back to sheep; we lined up for ages to get in to the country but once through find the denizens exceedingly friendly helpful and laid back. They even use the 'no worries' beloved of Australians.

We hired a grand buzzer of a car, Toyota Starlet from the man in Christchurch who hadn't been to the Rod Stewart concert the night before. Rod had been quoted on marriage the day before. On asked would he 'go' again he replied. "I think I'll just find a girl I don't like and give her a house".

We headed South rather than North which, believe it or not, was the Belfast Road. We passed Hamilton Road. In OZ we saw Lingard Street and Goulding Road. Homely.

I LOVE GERALDINE

2005-02-14T03:36:00.000Z

Mr Poodle insisted that it be recorded how wonderful it has been to travel with Mrs Poodle. She has amongst her many assets an angelic influence and a lightheartedness that gentlemen and poodles of a certain age and worldweariness can only lap up. This being a strictly General Release rated site there is little more to be said but a big thank you and a message of love . An attitude of gratitude.

This posting is explicable by the date of it's publication, at least at this side of the world, 14th Feb.

As to Geraldine; it's a town on the road to Queenstown from Christchurch, more on that later.

Shaking the dust off our feet

2005-02-14T03:11:00.000Z

It was getting time to leave the Red Centre, say goodbye to that rather uneasy town Alice Springs, return the large car to Avis, have another dekko at Tim Storrier's large fire in the bush painting at the airport and zoom into the air to look down on the vast flat expanses of scrubby 'emptiness' that fills the middle of this landmass, 5% of the Earth's.

Time to shake the red dust off the sandals.

We flew to Sydney where the airline lost Mrs Poodle's bag, as reported earlier. We checked into our favourite hotel 'The Dive' on Coogee Beach near to Bondi Beach. We got the T-Shirt to prove it that reads 'my favourite hotel is a dive'. It is run by an Ozzie architect, his Thai? wife and their Alaskan wolf 'Bella' and yes grumpy poodle 'Babe'. This is a must stay hotel and should be included in the 'Hip Hotel' series. Minimalist and functional and friendly. In the communal area I met a man called John who was born on the Meath Road in Bray. It was time for rest amd recreation and bag reorganisation and LAUNDRY. Mr Poodle has developed an obsession with spotting washing facilities along with trying to lighten his 20 kilo bag. This is not helped by purchases of T-Shirts, fluffy toys and postcards. The way he judges a town is by it's standard of Internet, Laundry, Post, Fluffy toy facilities. Art is for vultures. Himmler is quoted as saying "When I hear the word culture I reach for my revolver". This could be a downward spiral if not checked. He saw a very supportive quote somewhere however: 'You look reasonable, time to up my medication'.