Watts Happening

Replete from an afternoon of grazing on good food, Dennis and I accompanied Dick back to the boat for an evening of musical entertainment. N.B. I use the term musical in the loosest sense of the word, when it refers to my singing.

We warmed up with a song and dance extravaganza that basically entailed us two jumping up and down and singing into ‘microphones’ of nivea sunscreen and lime cordial. Dick was very kind and asked where we learnt our routine.

Worn out with the wayward flinging of limbs we sat down and entered the music phase. Dennis is a whizz on the guitar and carries with her a bundle of music and lyrics.



What I didn’t know is that Dick had a keyboard stowed away in his bunkroom and is the master of the improvised percussion instruments. With my vitamin C maracas we were rocking into the night.

The biggest surprise of the year so far is The Codfather in Sudbury, Suffolk. It's a diner style chippy with booths boasting brown leatherette bling, fancy lighting and moody pictures on the wall. If that's not enough, our fish and chip lunch was pretty good too and an added bonus: it doesn't smell of fat. Karen's a tough cook to impress, but she'll definitely be eating there again, she even wanted their takeaway menu.

I'm convinced this man last went on holiday in 1980 and when he was preparing for this trip, he just packed all of the clothes he wore the last time he was somewhere sunny. Whatever the reason for wearing these shorts, it will never be good enough.



I have received a number of amusing 'shorts' from the watts where faithful:

Drop a pound and watch him pick it up. (Joy)

"She just took a picture of me! Thank God I waxed!" (Lee)

Could be the Cheeky Girl's dad (Dad)

Mind the crack! (Anne)

The 80's have long gone. Wot a bummer (Karen)

But the one that made me laugh the most was Paul's Brief Encounter. Hence, from this day forth, that is how this image shall be known.

I won't deny it, I was quite disturbed when Anita and Adrian uprooted their lives and moved their brood to the 'burbs earlier this year. They left Drummoyne and off they went to a place called Thornleigh.



I ventured up there for a few days and can now say that I'm thoroughly happy with their choice. They have a pool, a naughty chocolate labrador puppy and lots of room for house guests.

Woo!

I’ve been in Australia a week, it feels like longer than that because I’ve jammed a lot in: some filming, a photographic shoot with the Australian ballet and lots of laughs with friends.

Mostly, Sydney’s been beautiful apart from the storms and torrential rain that closed the airport last week and a day of non-stop rain yesterday. Rain is good, the drought is officially over and it meant I got to spend a day in my PJs and catch up with stuff and discover the Sopranos. I thought I ought to, as one of my friends seems to watch it all the time. I like it.

The photographic shoot with the Australian ballet was brilliant; I’ll upload photos when I have permission from the artistic director to do so. They have to approve my images before publication, so hopefully that’ll happen soon.

Sunday, I was in the Rocks with Dave from Delhi. We wandered round the streets admiring the old and gorgeous empty houses with amazing views of the harbour. Oh, to have the millions needed to own one of those. Hey ho, Number 29 has views of Morrisons.

So, in answer to the enquiries, yes I’m enjoying being here. It was the right thing to do, how can you beat sunshine and smiles? I spent Saturday afternoon with friends watching 4 guitarists playing songs of the 70’s in The Welcome hotel. It was when they played “Here Comes The Sun” and announced that it was a hit in 1970 that I remembered that this trip is part of my 40th birthday celebrations. I know it’s a bit late, but it’s perfect.

I'm sure I've said it before, but whilst the Opera House is beautiful, it's the Harbour Bridge that does it for me. I suppose they're the perfect combo really, you see the bridge from pretty much everywhere and then the 'toast rack' pops up beneath it. It's a fab place to be.

I’ve been back from Delhi a week and I’m missing it. Yes, really.

I was working with a fantastic and fun bunch of people who faced Indian adversity head on and got on with the job in hand in spite of Delhi’s challenges.

All of the SIS Live crew and production mixed with each other – not something that always happens - which made for laughs every day and great fun in the pool with the frizbee.

The staff at our hotel – The Grand – contributed to the feelgood factor massively too. Without doubt, they provided the best service I’ve ever received in a hotel, so if you’re planning a trip to Delhi, make sure you stop off at The Grand and dine in the luxury of Siddharth’s restaurant.



Most of all I miss the fact that there’s always someone around to hang out with whether at the pool, in the dining room or just watching TV.

I love Asia, the madness of it all. The fact that life is so different. This photo's for Louise.

I've just had a personal consultation with Chef Siddharth regarding my lunch. There I was, perusing the menu, when he came up, said hello and proceeded to recommend the wok specials. He even showed me his noodles so nothing was left to chance. I've opted for the thinner variety and extra cashews.

It smells good and I'm about to taste my complimentary mange tout with garlic (mange tout Rodney, mange tout.) Very garlicky it is too, lovely.

The restaurant's open plan with beautiful, simple decor: natural woods, bamboo screens and white pebbles.

Chef Siddharth is on fire in the open plan kitchen. Not literally you understand, but there are flames dancing around the wok as he whips up my noodles and pak choy with cashew nuts, no chilli.



This is all accompanied by the two man house band (for my MotoGP friends it's very similar to the house band at the Pan-Pac at KL airport.) Their repertoire includes Robbie Williams, The Police and The Doors.

Given the build up, I'm sure your tastebuds are desperate to know how lunch was. It was perfect. The noodles an understated support act to the ginger kick pak choy wok special. Chef Siddharth knows his stuff, he could prove to be my food salvation while I'm in Delhi.

Look at this luxury hotel bathroom. It’s stunning isn’t it? Only one problem, there wasn’t any water coming out of the taps when I tried to have a shower.



However, water did start coming out of them about a minute before the plumber in blue overalls arrived. I think he was quite disappointed not to be able to spring into action. He just shrugged and walked away when I told him the good news.

It adds that element of jeopardy, not knowing whether there'll be water and it gives you pause for thought as to what it's like for the millions that don't have water on tap.

Norma, on the right, got delayed on her way to meeting me for dinner. She was in the lift and noticed that there is a Whiskey Bar on the lobby level. In her excitement she then failed to leave the lift and rode it back to the 6th floor and down again before realising that she should have left the lift at the lobby, or what she now calls, the Whiskey Bar level.

A couple of years ago Delhi airport was voted the worst in the world by Wanderlust readers. With that, and a week of stories involving Delhi’s failure to be ready for the Commonwealth Games in mind, I was trepidatious upon my arrival.

Instead of chaos though, we were greeted with smiles. We were escorted from the plane, along the travelators, to our first checkpoint where our accreditations were checked off a list. Our officials ushered us to our second checkpoint where our accreditations were validated.



After passport control, we were sat down and given tea and biscuits giving me time to photograph these hands that decorate the walls. There are 12 of them, based on the traditional Indian dance, each of them representing a different emotion.

After a suitable amount of time waiting we were guided to our baggage, which had been removed from the carousel for us, and led out of the baggage hall into arrivals. We waited for a bus, then (drumroll please) 90 minutes after landing, we boarded it.

We got caught in traffic on the way to the hotel, no surprise there. A lot of people were waving at us from their buses and lorries as they whizzed past.



Even when the road was clear our driver pootled along at 5mph because the hotel staff were on the bus trying to distribute room keys before we arrived at the hotel. They realised with 5 minutes to go that they had more keys than journey time, so our driver was forced to slow down, allowing bicycles to overtake us.

Two and a half hours after landing, we arrived at our hotel. Twenty minutes after arriving at the hotel, there was a power shortage. Welcome to Delhi!

John Lennon wrote the song: Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds about the sister of one of these tutu clad women that I filmed with today. See, I knew that would make you read on. How cool is that for John Lennon to have written a song about your sister?



Anyway, Fran (in the middle) is running the Great North Run in memory of her sister Lucy who suffered from Lupus. (I didn’t know what it was either, but you can find out more by visiting Team Lucy’s website: www.justgiving.com/Lucyinthesky.)

Fran’s got two brilliant friends, Gina and Deborah, who are running with her, dressed in purple tutus and sporting butterfly headdresses. The tutus are so wide and flouncy that anyone who dares to run between them will find out what it’s like to go through a car wash.

Their training’s included a 5 mile run to the pub and a taxi ride home, but I’m sure they’ll make it and enjoy the celebratory cool beer with white wine chaser at South Shields. If you’re in Newcastle and see them, cheer them on or buy them a pint. If you see them on the TV, be inspired.

I’m filming two more charity stories this week; I love doing them so it completes what has been a brilliant summer.

Good luck Fran, Gina and Deborah, remember to smile for the cameras even if your butterflies are wilting!

I was on the Heathrow Express on Thursday (this, for those of you that don’t know, is the train that runs non-stop from London to Heathrow) a train, which is designed for people who are travelling to and from the airport with bags.

A family of five boarded the carriage that I was on, lugging their bags behind them. There’s nothing unusual in this, they’d all packed more than they could carry and were leaving it to one member of the group to get the bags up into the luggage rack. (Is this why luggage is so named I wonder, a merging of the words lugging and bag?)

None of this is unusual. However, I did raise a quizzical eyebrow when the ticket inspector reached our intrepid family and the dad asked if the train would stop long enough for them to get their bags off. I repeat: it’s a train to Heathrow carrying people with luggage to and from their holidays and business trips. What did our family think the train was going to do upon arrival at Heathrow? Judging by his concern, the dad believed the train would slow down, the doors open and the passengers would fling their bags out then jump for their lives, landing in a bundle on the platform. Likewise, passengers getting on at Heathrow for the journey back to London, would have to hurl their bags on, then jump in behind them, landing in a pile of bodies and bags playing Mrs Muddle in the carriage entrance.

Unlike me, the ticket collector didn’t seem phased by the question and, he answered without any sarcasm, informing the dad that the train stops for two minutes, plenty of time for people to get their bags and their families off.

I returned to gazing out of the window.

“How will we know when we’re there?”

I turned back to our intrepid family. This question hadn’t come from one of the children; it had come from the dad. I looked at the ticket inspector, the ticket inspector looked at the dad, the dad looked expectantly at the ticket inspector, the ticket inspector walked down the aisle “tickets please.” I handed mine over.

For the record, you’ll know when your Heathrow Express train has arrived at its destination because it will slow down and then stop, the doors will open and the signs on the platform will read Heathrow Terminals 1 and 3 (I don’t know what happened to the signs for 2) and the doors will stay open long enough for you to get your luggage off.

I’m flying to Stockholm from T3. It’s my second passage through T3 in 4 days.

Terminal 3 is horrible.

It may have a new plaza area at the front, but that doesn’t reduce the chaos inside and also means non-smokers now have to pass though the smog that lurks just outside all of the entrances.

Once inside it’s bumper-to-bumper trolleys with owners looking backwards while pushing forwards. Interestingly, you notice the plural of trolleys is trolleys and not trollies. Why is that? It’s very difficult trying to find a way through the congested trolleys laden with too heavy luggage. When faced with such a sight I think of Crocodile Dundee walking across the top of the crowds in the New York subway. One day.

I’m carrying my simple, but lovely, red leather carry-on bag for my Diamond League sojourn in Sweden. My sole aim: to pass through the airport at both ends as quickly and efficiently as possible. You can imagine my joy then, when I got stuck behind an old lady who was pushing her wheelchair very slowly. Now, if she can’t walk faster than minus 1mph, why isn’t she in the wheelchair?

Another senior lady further scuppered my plans for a smooth passage to the aircraft when she stepped out in front of me, dragging her too heavy hand luggage. The fact that she was wearing an orange velour leisure suit just added insult to injury. Did I mention that she had a limp?

T3 trauma aside, I did make it to Stockholm and, in stark contrast to Heathrow it was uber efficient at Arlanda airport. I disembarked, swept through passport control and the baggage hall, bought a ticket for the Arlanda Express and then travelled down two escalators, on my own, to the train. There wasn’t another soul in sight.

And guess what? There was even enough time for me to get my bag off the train at Stockholm Central!

Great Britain's long distance double act took to the stage in Barcelona and kick started an exciting and rewarding week of athletics. Their grins couldn't have been wider, nor the respect for each other any greater. True sportsmen.


Mo Farah & Chris Thompson, Gold & Silver in the Men's 10,000m.

No medal for Chambers in Barcelona, not that you'd know it from this smile. MLF won the silver, I hope he can keep up the good work and continue to prove himself.



I like Phillips. He's a friendly athlete who seems to have found his groove and, in doing so, has won the World and European Championship titles. He doesn't seem to take it for granted either, his reaction to this victory was really emotional when he was talking to Phil. Here's to 2012.




You'll remember the last time that Christian featured in the watts happening section was in Beijing 2008. Then I was happy to see him in an Olympic final. Whilst the European Championships are a pared down field, it was still fantastic to see Christian medal.



Our intrepid crew set off to the W hotel in Barcelona, tasked with interviewing Linford for a preview for the Men's 100m. Imagine my joy, when I saw this bar full of gold sofas and cushions. It couldn't have been more perfect for the golden team of Christie and McIntosh.

I don't think I've seen HRH before. I had a letter from her (when I was 6) in response to a card I sent her (don't hold it against me, I didn't know any better.) But I think today's sighting, we were just a couple of metres away from each other, is the first.



No doubt, Mum will put me right if I've forgotten a meeting with her when I was 2 months old. Anyway, the Queen's visit meant that I couldn't get into work the normal way (she's so disruptive,) but I did have a good chat with one of the maintenance guys while waiting for her to walk past.

At some stage during the afternoon of live athletics on Sunday, I asked Pete if he'd be able to do something while playing out replays. I can't remember what it was, but I do remember that his response was priceless.



The VT boys have a tendency of pulling faces at me. On a previous OB (outside broadcast) I pronounced that "I have a plan" only to turn around and see one of Pete's colleagues rolling his eyes. No respect! Pete's one of the people I'll be working with in Delhi, I'm not sure he's looking forward to it!

I was serenaded by Abba at breakfast, Mamma Mia, here I go again. How appropriate. I’m in Norway, high up on the west coast in Bergen. I last visited here in 1987 when Paul and I were inter-railing and my hair was brown. It’s unrecognizable.

I wandered around the fish market to capture a flavour of the place and experienced a first: whale meat for sale. I was quite taken aback to see it. It looked different to how I thought it would, but then. I’ve never contemplated what I thought whale meat would look like. The prawns are massive and make the tiger prawns in the fresh fish counter at Morrisons look positively puny. For my Australian readers, they’re even bigger than any prawn I’ve ever seen down under too. Huge. (You can tell this is a good day when the highlight was the size of the prawns.)

After a foray into the world of all things fishy the work started. First, interviews at the team hotel with Steve Cram followed by filming in Bergen with Jonathan. I found him a troll to film with, but he didn’t seem too keen (Jonathan, not the troll.) I also spotted a tour guide with a pink umbrella and megaphone, which I offered to borrow for Jonathan to use for one of his links. Alas, he turned that down too. We do have fun, I'm sure he's laughing with me, not at me.